


Burning Water

by Thunder_the_Wolf



Series: Just A Dream [2]
Category: Warriors - Erin Hunter
Genre: Canon character deaths, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-02-04
Packaged: 2020-05-16 00:56:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 43,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19307377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thunder_the_Wolf/pseuds/Thunder_the_Wolf
Summary: Trigger Warning for mannipulation and potentially for domestic violence when it comes to Willowpelt's story.





	1. Prologue

Orange flames lapped at the cold air, throwing sparks up into the night sky. The firelight flickered across a wasteland of ragged grass, making silhouettes of the Twolegs huddled there. A pair of white lights appeared in the distance, heralding the approach of a monster. It roared past on a Thunderpath that rose high into the sky, filling the air with sour fumes. At the edge of the wasteland, a cat moved, its eyes glinting in the shadows. Pointed ears twitched, then flattened against the noise. More cats followed one by one, onto the filthy grass. They carried their tails low and sniffed the bitter air with their lips curled. 

“What if the Twolegs see us?” hissed one of the cats. A large tom answered, his eyes like amber disks reflecting the firelight. 

“They won’t. Their night sight is weak.” 

As he padded forward the flames lit up the black-and-white fur on his powerful shoulders. He held his long tail straight up, sending a message of courage to his Clan. But the other cats crouched low against the grass, trembling. This was a strange place. The noise of the monsters battered their sensitive ear fur, and the acrid stench stung their nostrils. 

“Tallstar?” A gray queen flicked her tail uneasily. “We  _ can't _ be staying here.”

The black-and-white tom turned to the she-cat. 

“We’ve been driven from every place we’ve tried to settle, Ashfoot. Now is not the time to choose comfort.” he growled.

“Even if I were  _ comfortable _ ,” Ashfoot spat in disbelief, pulling her kit toward her and sheltering him beneath her belly. “with fire and monsters, how can we expect our younger cats to live like this? We won't be safe here!”

“We weren’t safe at home!” snarled another voice. A black tom pushed his way forward, limping heavily on a twisted paw. He held Ashfoot's blue gaze. 

“We couldn’t protect them from ShadowClan!” he snapped. “Not even in our own camp!” 

Anxious mews rose from some of the cats as they remembered the terrible battle that had driven them from their home in the uplands, at the edge of the forest.

“Brokenstar and his warriors may still be hunting us!” An apprentice whimpered. 

The sounds alerted one of the Twolegs around the fire. It stood unsteadily and stared toward the shadows. At once the cats fell silent, crouching lower; even Tallstar lowered his tail. The Twoleg shouted into the darkness and flung something toward them. The missile flew over their heads and exploded in a burst of thorn-sharp pieces on the Thunderpath behind. Ashfoot flinched as a shard grazed her shoulder, and curled her body around her terrified kit. 

“Keep down,” hissed Tallstar. The Twoleg at the fire spat on the ground, then sat back down. The cats waited for a few moments before Tallstar stood once more. Ashfoot stood too, wincing at the new pain in her shoulder. 

“Tallstar, I’m not trying to sound like a spoiled kittypet. I genuinely fear for our safety here. What will we eat? I can’t smell anything over this stench.” Tallstar stretched his neck and rested his muzzle gently on the queen’s head. 

“I know you’re hungry,” he murmured gently. “But we’ll be safer here than back in our old territory, or in the Twoleg fields and woods. Look at this place! Even ShadowClan wouldn’t follow us here. There’s no scent of dogs, and these Twolegs can hardly stand.” He turned to the black tom with the twisted paw. “Deadfoot,” he ordered, “take Onewhisker and see if you can find anything to eat. If there are Twolegs, there must be rats.” 

Ashfoot scowled and dipped her head to lick her kit behind its matted ears. 

“We must find a new place to settle, dearest.” The tortoiseshell reminded her gently. “Morningflower can't be on her paws for much longer.”

Ashfoot nodded. She hadn't forgotten about her fellow Clanmates. The dappled she-cat would be kitting soon, so she had to be at her best. That was another reason Ashfoot spoke so freely. 

The lean shapes of Deadfoot and Onewhisker emerged from the shadows.

“You were right, Tallstar,” called Deadfoot. “There are rat scents everywhere, and I think I’ve found a decent shelter.”

“Show us,” Tallstar ordered, gathering the rest of his Clan with a flick of his tail. Cautiously, the cats padded across the wasteland after Deadfoot. He led them toward the raised Thunderpath, the firelight making their shadows loom against its huge stone legs. A monster roared overhead and the ground shook, but even the tiniest kit sensed the need for silence. The cats trembled silently.

“Here,” meowed Deadfoot, stopping beside a round hole that stood two cats high. A black tunnel sloped down into the ground. A constant stream of water trickled into it. “The water’s fresh,” Deadfoot added. “We’ll be able to drink it.” 

Ashfoot shot her mate a look. Surely he didn't expect them to sleep with wet paws?! He caught on immediately and shook his head with a gentle smirk.

“I’ve been inside.” The black tom informed the Clan at large. “There’s some space away from the stream. And we’ll be safe from Twolegs and monsters.” 

Tallstar stepped forward and lifted his chin. “WindClan has traveled for long enough!” he declared. “It’s been a few moons since ShadowClan drove us from our home. The weather is turning colder, and leaf-bare will be here soon. We have no choice but to stay.” 

Ashfoot narrowed her eyes but said nothing. Silently she joined her Clan as, one by one, they filed into the shadowy tunnel.


	2. Prologue

Fireheart shivered. His flame-colored fur was still greenleaf-light, and since leaf-fall was temperamental, it would be a few moons before it was thick enough to keep out cold like this. He shuffled his forepaws on the hard earth. The sky was finally growing light as dawn crept slowly in. But even though his paws were cold, Fireheart could not suppress a glow of pride.

After many moons as an apprentice, he was a warrior at last. In his mind, he replayed yesterday’s victory at the ShadowClan camp: Brokenstar’s glittering eyes as the tyrant backed away from he and Dustpelt, hissing threats before fleeing after his rogue companions. The remaining cats had been grateful to ThunderClan for helping them to get rid of their brutal leader, for the recovery time that ThunderClan had promised. However, Brokenstar had not just brought chaos to his own Clan; he had driven the whole of WindClan right out of their own territory! He had been a dark shadow in the forest long before Fireheart had left his kittypet life to join ThunderClan. But for Fireheart, there was another shadow troubling his mind.

Tigerclaw was now ThunderClan’s deputy. Fireheart shivered as he thought of how the fierce tabby had terrorized his apprentice, Ravenpaw. In the end, Fireheart and his denmates smuggled Ravenpaw into Twoleg territory beyond the uplands. Afterward, Sandstorm had told the Clan that Ravenpaw had been hit by a monster saving his brother, Dustpelt.

It was for the best that the Clan was uncertain about the black apprentice's fate. It left the option of return, if Ravenpaw ever felt safe enough, and Tigerclaw wouldn't leave the Clan just to silence an already-gone apprentice. No, he would focus on the one who knew about him for sure. Tigerclaw's vicious murder of Redtail still had no clear motive. Redtail was Sandstorm's father and had been the deputy of ThunderClan when Fireheart first came to the forest. Tigerclaw was deputy now, but that was after Lionheart had died in a battle with ShadowClan. If the battle hadn't happened, if Lionheart hadn't died, would Tigerclaw have tried to kill Greystripe’s former mentor?

Fireheart shook his head to clear it and turned to glance at Greystripe sitting beside him. His first friend's thick gray fur was ruffled up against the cold, and Fireheart guessed he was looking forward to the sunrise. Neither of them spoke their wishes to the other two beside them.

Clan tradition demanded silence on the night of a warrior vigil. After an apprentice earned their name, they were set to guard the camp. The required silence made room for plenty of reflection.

Halftail, a huge, light brown elder who had lost part of his tail to a badger, was one of the first cats to wake. Fireheart glanced toward the warriors’ den at the other side of the clearing. Through the branches that sheltered the den, he recognized the broad shoulders of Tigerclaw as he slept. At the foot of Highrock, the lichen that draped the entrance to Bluestar’s den twitched, and Fireheart saw his Clan leader push her way out. She stopped and lifted her head to sniff the air. Then she padded silently out of Highrock’s shadow, her long fur glowing blue-gray in the dawn light.

Bluestar had mourned Redtail’s death with the rest of the Clan, originally believing him to have died by the claws of Oakheart, the deputy of RiverClan. Fireheart had hesitated before, knowing how important Tigerclaw was to her, but the danger was too great. Bluestar now knew that her Clan was harboring a cold-blooded murderer. Tigerclaw emerged from the warriors’ den and met the leader at the edge of the clearing. He murmured something to her, his tail flicking urgently. Fireheart stifled his instinctive meow of greeting. The sky was growing light, but until he knew for sure that the sun was above the horizon, he dared not break his silence. He nodded respectfully at the two cats as they passed him.

Beside him, Sandstorm nudged Fireheart and pointed upward with her nose. An orange visible on the horizon.

“Glad to see the dawn, you four?” Whitestorm’s deep meow took Fireheart by surprise. He had barely noticed the warrior’s approach, but according to everyone else, stealth was the white tom’s forte. It was how he'd gotten his name. He passed that on to Sandstorm apparently, because she shared many of the traits that made her an excellent hunter with her mentor.

Fireheart and his three denmates nodded together.

“You may speak now.” Whitestorm chuckled, touching noses with each of them in turn. “Your vigil is over.”

Yesterday he had fought side by side with them in the battle with ShadowClan, and judging by the respect in his eyes as he looked at them, Fireheart could say with pride that he'd proven himself.

“Thank you, Whitestorm,” Fireheart meowed gratefully. He stood and stretched his legs one at a time. Greystripe, Dustpelt and Sandstorm moved stiffly, each unlocking their muscles from the solid guard they'd stood all night.

“Brrrrr!” Greystripe meowed, shaking the chill from his fur. “I thought the sun would never come up!”

“With fur as thick as yours, I'm surprised you feel anything, much less the cold.” Dustpelt taunted, surprisingly tame.

The brown warrior would never forgive himself for leaving his brother to find a new home in a storm as bad as the one that had drenched the territories. Ravenpaw had insisted on getting as far away from ThunderClan as possible thanks to the threat posed by the current deputy. Like everyone else, Dustpelt had been of the opinion that Tigerclaw was one of the best warriors in the Clan. 

That was before he called for the battle to take back Sunningrocks from RiverClan, an ancient grudge that would change only with the course of the river.

Something must have happened there, because Fireheart and Ravenpaw had come back terrified beyond belief and Dustpelt needed a new mentor. It was a good thing that Dustpelt had been well beyond needing more training, because Darkstripe was... something else. He'd have to ask Bluestar to hold off on giving Willowpelt’s first son an apprentice, because the black tabby could do with a bit more training himself. How Longtail got his warrior name, Dustpelt would never know. Then again, Longtail was a decent warrior so maybe Darkstripe had something else distracting him. He did seem to be following his old mentor rather closely. Could Fireheart and Ravenpaw have been right about Tigerclaw’s plotting?

“Are you going to be alright?” Greystripe asked softly. Dustpelt looked up. They’d reached the fresh-kill pile.

“One mouse each and two birds to share!” Sandstorm crowed.

The four friends picked up their meal and looked at each other. Dustpelt's eyes suddenly sparkled with delight.

“I suppose we take it to the warriors’ side of the camp now,” he meowed.

“I suppose we do,” Fireheart purred, padding to the patch of nettles where they had often watched Whitestorm, Tigerclaw, and the other warriors share fresh-kill.

“Now what?” asked Greystripe, gulping down his last mouthful. They'd settled down not far from where Willowpelt had taken her morning meal, and she purred a greeting to her son. (“I’m so proud of you!”)

Greystripe meowed happily and pressed his pelt to his mother's before returning to his friends.

“I don’t know about you, but I think I could sleep for half a moon.” He said now.

“Me too,” Sandstorm agreed.

The four denmates got to their paws and made their way toward the warriors’ den. Fireheart stuck his head through the low-hanging branches. Mousefur and Longtail were asleep on the other side of the den. He pushed his way inside and found a patch of moss at the edge, noticing the other three do the same. The lack of a familiar catscent told him it wasn’t someone else's nest, so he circled it once and burrowed in, curling himself as tightly as possible. It was getting colder, a sign that leafbare was on the way.

* * *

 

_Fireheart could hear a roaring around him, like wind in tall trees. The acrid stench of the Thunderpath stung his nostrils, together with a new smell, sharper and more terrifying. Fire ! Flames lapped at the black sky, throwing glowing cinders up into a starless night. To Fireheart’s amazement, silhouettes of cats flitted in front of the fire. Why hadn’t they run away?_  
_One of them, a black and white tom, stopped and looked straight at Fireheart. The tom’s night-eyes glinted in the darkness and he lifted his long, straight tail, as if in greeting._  
_Fireheart trembled as a memory burst into his mind of the words that the former ThunderClan medicine cat, had said to him before her untimely death: “Fire alone will save our Clan!” Could it be something to do with the strange cats that showed no fear of fire?_

  
“Wake up, Fireheart!”

Fireheart jolted, startled out of his dream by Tigerclaw’s growl.

“If you're going to talk in your sleep, go annoy the medicine cat. I'm sure Yellowfang wouldn't mind some company until she gets an apprentice of her own.” He sneered.

“ _Finds an_  apprentice.” came Sandstorm’s clipped tone, rough with sleep. “If you took any interest in Clan life, you'd know it's an honor to become a medicine cat and not something just any cat can undertake. It's why we usually have less than four. At any rate, you can't possibly tell me that you've never had a nightmare.” The tan she-cat scoffed.

“Consider yourself lucky that your mother is in the nursery,” Tigerclaw hissed. “because I'm sure she would not approve of your attitude.”

“Don't presume anything about another cat’s teaching methods when you've got poor Darkstripe hanging onto your every word.” Mousefur snapped. “And since I'm up, I might as well go on a patrol. I'll see you all later.”

“Fair hunting, Mousefur.” The pair of younger warriors chorused sleepily. Mousefur dipped her head.

“Have a nice first day, you two.” She snorted.

“I came to say that you'll be joining the evening patrol, and since Sandstorm is already awake, feel free to take her with you.”

Moonlight shone through the leafy den wall.

_We've slept the day away!_

“Hurry up!” The dark tabby turned and stalked out of the den. It was moonhigh of the next night when Bluestar exited her den and made the customary call for a meeting.

Greystripe’s ears flicked excitedly as he heard Bluestar’s call.

“A naming ceremony?” he meowed. “It must be Longtail getting his first apprentice. He’s been dropping hints for days.”

He bounded over to join the cats gathering at the edge of the clearing. Fireheart followed, still itching with frustration. A small black-and-white kit padded into the clearing. His soft paws made no sound on the hard earth. Swiftkit walked toward the Highrock with his pale eyes lowered and Fireheart almost expected to see him tremble. He definitely wasn't very eager to be an apprentice, though Goldenflower radiated pride for her son.

 _Longtail won’t be impressed…_ Fireheart remembered the cream tom’s scorn when Fireheart had arrived at camp for the first time. The warrior had taunted him viciously on his first day with the Clan, mocking his kittypet origins. Fireheart had kept in mind how Longtail ended up, but he couldn't help his current distaste for the warrior.

“From this day forward,” Bluestar meowed, staring down at the kit, “until he has earned his warrior name, this apprentice will be called Swiftpaw.”

There was no flash of determination in the black-and-white kit as he looked up at his leader. Instead, his amber eyes were wide with anxiety. Fireheart watched as Longtail padded toward his new apprentice and Bluestar went on.

“Longtail, you were Darkstripe’s apprentice. He taught you well, and you have become a fierce and loyal warrior. I hope you will pass some of these qualities on to Swiftpaw.”

Fireheart searched Longtail’s face for an expression of disdain as he looked down at Swiftpaw. But the warrior’s eyes softened as he met his new apprentice’s gaze, and gently the two Clan cats touched noses.

“It’s okay, you’re doing fine,” Longtail murmured encouragingly. Good. At least Longtail wouldn't turn out like Darkstripe and Tigerclaw. He had too much compassion. He glanced around the rest of the Clan as they began to murmur congratulations to the new apprentice. The ginger tom scowled and shook himself out. He was a part of ThunderClan now, he'd proven himself early on and no one doubted his commitment to the Clan.

“Welcome to apprenticeship, Swiftpaw. Here's hoping I do a better job at seeing you through to your warrior name.”

* * *

 

The night after brought the full moon, and Fireheart was excited to see what the other Clans were up to now that Brokenstar and his rogues were no longer a problem.

“You seem awfully chipper.” Dustpelt mused. All four of them got to go to this Gathering, to show the other Clans their new warrior status.

“I’m curious to see how the ShadowClan cats are doing.” He admitted. “We collectively overthrew their leader and several of their stronger warriors. How were they able to find food in such dead territory? Do they even believe in StarClan anymore?” He wondered aloud.

“StarClan's faith is not easily broken, but I can see why you're concerned. They probably sent some warriors outside Clan territory. And even though they've been held against their will, they are still warriors. And ShadowClan cats at that. They'll absolutely make sure that their Clan survives.” Dustpelt offered.

“How've you been doing?” Fireheart asked hesitantly. Ravenpaw had been his brother, and he had been the most vocal about leaving him to fend for himself.

“I have to believe that Ravenpaw found this Barley cat, if he even exists.”

Since they no longer had the privacy of the Apprentice's den, the nightly stories that Fireheart had been telling his denmates would have to take place somewhere else. Maybe the medicine clearing? Yellowfang had too many secrets to start giving up his.

“Your brother is strong, Dustpelt. I believe that he made it to safety.”

Sandstorm and Greystripe joined the pair, and they walked over to the group assembling for the Gathering.

Fireheart thought of his first journey to Fourtrees with Tigerclaw and Lionheart. He felt a pang of sadness as he remembered Lionheart. Greystripe’s mentor was the second ThunderClan deputy since Fireheart came to the forest and he had been a warmhearted, golden warrior. He was slain in battle, and Tigerclaw had taken his place. On Fireheart’s first visit to Fourtrees, Lionheart had taken the apprentices on a roundabout route, through Tallpines, past Sunningrocks, and along the RiverClan border. Tonight, Bluestar would lead them straight through the heart of ThunderClan territory.

“Take the lead, Tigerclaw.” The grey she-cat commanded.

Clearly, this happened often with her deputies because the dark brown tabby had no trouble switching places and allowing Bluestar to mingle with her cats.

She spoke with Swiftpaw and Goldenflower for a few fox-lengths before dropping back to chat with Whitestorm. He seemed to brighten around her almost as much as he did around Willowpelt, which made Fireheart wary. If Bluestar's paranoia took hold this time around, would it shatter Whitestorm as well?

His thoughts were disturbed as Someone tapped his flank. He turned to find that it was Bluestar, who stared at him with concern in her fierce blue orbs.

“You've been distracted these past few days. Have you been having more strange dreams?”

“I…” should he tell her about the cats who lived near fire? He got the feeling that these were WindClan cats, from what he remembered Tallstar looking like. But how could he help them if he had no clue where they could be?

“I have.” He admitted finally. “A dream about WindClan.”

“I have thought long about sending cats to find them, but we cannot be the only ones to establish boundaries in this forest. ThunderClan is not the only Clan with opinions, so why should we be the ones to interfere? Thank you, Fireheart. Your dream has strengthened my conviction.”

“You have plans for WindClan?” Dustpelt asked, ears perked in curiosity. The fourth Clan had been lost for moons now. What could Bluestar be thinking?

“You shall see at the Gathering, young ones.” The leader insisted.

Bluestar loped quickly to catch up to Tigerclaw then paused, scenting the air. Fireheart sensed a tightening of muscles and prickling of fur around him. She signaled with a flick of her tail, and the ThunderClan cats plunged down the slope toward the Gathering.


	3. Two

Bluestar halted on the edge of the clearing with her Clan lined up beside her. Some cats from RiverClan and ShadowClan turned and acknowledged their arrival.

“Hey, look,” Greystripe meowed. “The ShadowClan cats are looking stronger than I thought they would. After all, Brokenstar left them half-starved.” 

Fireheart followed his gaze to a sleek ShadowClan warrior. 

“You’re right,” he agreed, surprised. With Starclan’s blessing, ShadowClan was on the mend.

“Mind you, we did do most of their fighting for them!” The grey tabby scoffed. Fireheart’s barbed response was interrupted by Whitestorm. 

“The ShadowClan cats fought twice as hard as we did to chase out Brokenstar. He _terrorized_ them, and we should honor their determination to recover!” He hissed sternly before padding over to a group of warriors gathered beneath one of the great oaks. 

“Oops!” mewed Greystripe with a guilty glance at Fireheart. The ginger tom shook his head. Greystripe spoke without thinking and one day, it would get him hurt. 

Fireheart and Sandstorm stayed on the edge of the clearing while Greystripe and Dustpelt explored further. They were warriors now. Everyone was on the same level. Fireheart could easily pick out the apprentices from the other Clans—their fur looked kit-soft, their faces round, and their paws plump and clumsy. Two warriors approached them with a small brown apprentice tagging along. Fireheart recognized the gray tabby tom from ShadowClan, but not the smoky black tom who walked with him. 

“Hi!” meowed the gray tom. 

“Hello, Wetfoot.” replied Fireheart. “It's good to see you looking so well. Has the prey returned to ShadowClan?” 

“We get by.” The grey tabby offered vaguely. He glanced at the dark brown cat. 

“This is Blackclaw, of RiverClan.” Wetfoot introduced.

Sandstorm and Fireheart nodded their greeting. The apprentice stumbled forward, shaking despite his mentor’s gentle encouragement. 

“This is my apprentice, Oakpaw.” added Wetfoot. Oakpaw looked up at Fireheart with wide, anxious eyes. 

“H-hi, Fireheart,” he mewed. Fireheart nodded his head in greeting. Sandstorm crouched down so that she and Oakpaw were eye to eye.

“We may be from different Clans, little one, but we don't bite.” She informed him gently. “And even if we did, I'm sure your mentor will train you well. Soon you'll have no trouble keeping up with the rest of us.”

Oakpaw smiled softly and burrowed into Wetfoot’s side. Fireheart couldn't help but remember her doing this exact same thing all the times that Leafpool and Squirrelflight ever got scared as apprentices. They shook off her guidance as they got older, but those times had been nice. He resolved, this time around, to be more of a father.

“Thank you for that, and don't take any offense. This is his first Gathering.” 

“Ah, so a new apprentice.” Fireheart murmured. “How long has he been out of his kit fur?” He asked warily. 

Wetfoot caught on easily and shook his head. 

“That was a practice that Brokenstar enforced, but the warrior code condemns the harm of kits. He is small for his age, but I assure you that he is a few days past six moons.” 

“I'm sure the more he eats, the bigger he'll get.” Fireheart offered. “Just like us.” 

“I hear Bluestar made you warriors after the battle!” meowed Wetfoot more enthusiastically. “Congratulations! It must’ve been a cold vigil.” 

“It certainly was!” Sandstorm agreed. 

“Who’s that?” Fireheart broke in. A sleek she-cat with a mottled brown pelt had caught his attention. She was sharing words with Tigerclaw beside the Great Rock that stood in the center of the clearing. 

“That’s Leopardfur, our deputy,” growled Blackclaw. Whether he didn't like her or he didn't like them, Blackclaw seemed uneasy. And Fireheart barely recognized Leopardstar, young and undaunted by the choices she made. Perhaps he wouldn't be able to change everything, but maybe he could try reaching out to her. TigerClan wouldn't exist if the evil deputy couldn't get her on his side. 

He was jolted from his thoughts when Sandstorm tapped him and jerked her head toward the Great Rock. The meeting was starting, and the leaders had allowed Bluestar to speak first. 

She introduced Yellowfang and the air buzzed with tension. Bluestar had offered the old grizzled she-cat a place in ThunderClan, but would ShadowClan need her more? 

Fireheart could tell by the way her right ear twisted slightly that she was uncomfortable under the gaze of the other Clans. Cats hardly ever left one Clan to join another, but with the tyranny of Brokenstar and his warriors, why _would_ a medicine cat feel welcome in ShadowClan? Yellowfang had every right to leave. The grey healer searched the crowd slowly until she met the gaze of Runningnose, ShadowClan’s new medicine cat. There was a brief pause before they exchanged a respectful nod. Yellowfang’s ear straightened and Fireheart relaxed.

“We also bring four newly named warriors. Fireheart, Sandstorm, Greystripe and Dustpelt received their names on a mission to help ShadowClan rid themselves of Brokenstar.” She announced. This was news to the RiverClan cats, and Blackclaw peered at them curiously. 

“You did seem rather cozy when we first met.” The black tabby mused. “And good riddance to Brokenstar. May ShadowClan thrive in his absence.” 

“Hopefully so.” Wetfoot meowed gratefully.

Nightpelt stepped forward, brushing past Bluestar to stand on the highest part of the rock. 

“ThunderClan has our thanks in the aid of their warriors. Brokenstar was a tyrant, as you all know, and his reign here is through. I will be leading ShadowClan until a more suitable replacement is found.” He announced. 

“Where is Brokenstar now?” A voice from the crowd called. A plump brown she-cat who sat next to Frostfur has asked the question on everyone's minds.

“We assume that he’s left the forest with the other banished warriors. They should know that it will be dangerous for them to try and return.” answered Nightpelt more confidently.

“I hope so.” Frostfur meows to her neighbor. 

Crookedstar, stepped forward to speak as Nightpelt shuffled back.

“Let us hope that Brokenstar had the sense to leave the forest for good. His greed for territory threatened us all.” Crookedstar waited for the yowls of agreement to die down before he went on.

“We understand that ShadowClan has suffered much these past few moons,” he meowed. “and RiverClan has no problem with ThunderClan’s promise. We shall leave you in peace until you can partake in Clan life more fully.” 

“Thank you, StarClan.” Fireheart breathed. There would be no fighting tonight. 

“There are more pressing problems at paw.” Crookedstar insisted. “You all have noticed the absence of the fourth Clan in the forest, some of you grew up without knowledge of there ever being a fourth Clan. Brokenstar drive them out moons ago, when they fought for their territory. RiverClan were fortunate enough to be able to keep ours with StarClan's mercy, and ThunderClan has enabled ShadowClan to cast the tyrant out. WindClan must have fought, but ultimately failed to keep their home.”

“Bluestar has informed us that her medicine cat has had a dream. WindClan warriors survive outside of Clan territory, and we rightfully believe that they must return.” Nightpelt took up from here. “We believe this because there have always been four Clans, four seasons, there is Fourtrees here, where we gather to share in our good news. ShadowClan’s former leader has done WindClan wrong, and they deserve the chance to thrive here as they always have. StarClan's dream has confirmed this.” 

“As such, we will be sending two warriors from each Clan to find WindClan and return them to the uplands. These warriors will be chosen by the leaders and will have to convince a likely battle-worn and world-weary group of cats that they can return to their home at last. We have agreed to meet in two sunrises to send each cat on their way.” Bluestar finished with a quiet intake of air towards the end of her speech. 

The clearing broke into a frenzy of excitement. WindClan would return! Some of their cats would be leaving! 

The Gathering broke up as the cats prepared to travel back to their camps. Fireheart stayed where he was for a moment, watching the leaders on the Great Rock. Bluestar touched noses with both leaders and jumped down to the forest floor. Crookedstar followed shortly after, and Nightpelt remained, likely contemplating how things would work for his Clan. Fireheart was more than a bit concerned. Nightpelt wasn't as old as Ashfur had appeared, but he did have something wrong with him. Would he survive long enough to lead ShadowClan through rebuilding their entire Clan? And who would replace him? In his last life, Tigerclaw had replaced Nightpelt as leader of ShadowClan and Fireheart was doing everything he could think of to prevent that. But would he be leaving ShadowClan without a leader? 

Sandstorm poked him with a sheathed paw and they left with the rest of their Clan. There would be plenty to tell the others tonight, and there was a lot for Fireheart to think about. 


	4. Three

Bluestar led the Gathering party back to camp without fanfare. As cats streamed through the gorse entrance, sleepy figures began emerging from the dens. 

“What’s the news?” called Halftail. 

“Were ShadowClan there?” asked Willowpelt. 

“Yes, they were,” Bluestar replied cheerfully. She strode past Willowpelt and leaped up onto Highrock and Tigerclaw jumped up beside her. There was no need for her customary call because everyone was curious. Cats were already gathering below the rock. 

“There was much discussion between the Clans tonight,” Bluestar began. “Crookedstar, Nightpelt and I have come to an agreement. WindClan has been chased from their homes, and we know not where they reside now. But all three Clans have decided to send cats to find them. It is time that they knew Brokenstar is no longer a threat. They deserve to inhabit the home they have known for generations as much as the rest of us.”

“Nightpelt?” croaked One-eye’s ancient voice from the back of the crowd. 

“He has been named as ShadowClan’s new leader,” Bluestar explained. 

“But his name—hasn’t he been accepted by StarClan yet?” asked One-eye. 

“He plans to travel to the Moonstone tomorrow night,” Tigerclaw told him. 

“No leader can speak for their Clan at a Gathering without receiving StarClan’s approval first.” scowled One-eye, loud and distraught.

“They overthrew their leader not even a few sunrises ago, One-eye. Do you truly expect ShadowClan to regroup immediately after a tiring and dangerous fight for their very livelihood?” Bluestar offered tiredly.

“They cast out the weak and elderly; they had no food in their camp!” Greystripe snapped. “They lived in squalor and you want them to make the journey to Highstones?!” He sneered. “For  _ what _ , so they can be blessed by ancestors who have so clearly turned their backs on them?” 

“How  _ dare _ you speak to an elder so callously?!” Speckletail snarled. “I expected better of you, Greystripe!” 

“He has the right to, in this case.” Whitestorm insisted. “ He has the right to be upset, because he is right. ShadowClan has been decimated by Brokenstar. Can we truly hold them to a standard when they don't have enough bracken to make up their camp walls?” 

Fireheart blinked, shocked. Greystripe had scoffed at the ShadowClan cats when they were at the Gathering. What changed his mind so quickly? And that had to have been the second time he heard Whitestorm speak so boldly, with such conviction and insistence. It was a nice change in pace to see them both so vocal for something that was obviously affecting the Clans. 

_ Just as well, _ the ginger tom noticed.  _ Whitestorm has silenced the Clan. _

Bluestar went on in the wake of the stunned silence. 

“I will announce the cats I wish to send tomorrow after the sunhigh patrol, and those cats will meet with the rest of their group the sunrise after.” 

Bluestar dismissed the Clan with a few more words and Fireheart padded wearily to his nest.

* * *

 

_ For the fifth night in a row, Fireheart dreamed.  _

_ He stood in the dark, the roar and stench of a Thunderpath were close enough to tell him that he was nowhere near the forest. Fireheart felt buffeted and blinded by the monsters that ambled up and down with glaring eyes.  _

_ Suddenly, the ginger tom heard the pitiful cry of a young cat. The desperate wail sliced through the thundering of the monsters. The new warrior shot to his paws and rocketed off, running blindly as another, more sorrowful, screech drummed through his ears.  _

_ “Where are you?!” He yowled frantically. “I can help!” He promised.  _

_ Try as he might, running got him nowhere and he bolted upright to shaky paws.  _

No one was up, which meant that he hadn't disturbed anyone this time. He was far too unnerved to fall back asleep, so he picked his way through the posse of dozing cats and shimmied outside into the cool night air. 

“I take it you can't sleep either.” Fireheart jerked upward, scared out of his fur. 

“Relax, kit. I'm not gonna hurt you.”

Runningwind was a calm and relaxed cat. Good-natured, but quick to point out a mistake. He was around the same age as Mousefur. Not as old as Dappletail or Speckletail though. Maybe closer to Goldenflower? He hadn't paid that much attention to his older Clanmates, something he resolved to fix. 

“Lost in thought?” The brown tabby teased gently. 

“I keep having strange dreams.” Fireheart admitted.

“So I've heard.” The older tom snorted. “It certainly wasn't Yellowfang who got the dream about WindClan.” 

Fireheart felt his fur warm. He didn't like that everyone knew just how strange he was. 

“I'm not a medicine cat.” He insisted. “No matter how intent StarClan seems to be on making me one. I like being able to defend ThunderClan.” 

“Medicine cats find different ways to defend their Clans,” Runningwind corrected. “but sometimes, nothing beats using your claws.” He ultimately agreed. 

“Although perhaps we all could use some medical knowledge. It'd be useful to at least know what berries to smother on our fur.” 

“That's why I've been hanging around Spottedleaf and Yellowfang so often, but look where that got me.” Fireheart grumbled. 

“Maybe Willowpelt can help as well.” Runningwind offered. 

“Really?” Fireheart's ears perked up. What could Sorreltail's mother possibly do to ease his fears or add to his training? 

“She and Spottedleaf are sisters. She might not know as much about herbs, but she could be able to help you with your dreams. She did for Spottedleaf when they were younger. I'd imagine she does the same for Whitestorm.”

Huh. He learned more and more about the cats he lived with every day. This confirmed that something had happened to his favorite cat when he was younger, and Willowpelt was far more than the average queen. 

“Thank you.” Fireheart dipped his head. 

The pair laid at the center of camp for the rest of the night, and eventually, Fireheart drifted off to sleep.  The ginger tom awoke slowly, and was surprised to find warmth on either side of him. 

To his left, Runningwind lay observing the goings on with interest. To his right, Sandstorm munched on a mouse. 

“Good morning.” She mumbled around her food. Runningwind tapped the ginger tom’s flank with his nose in a brief hello. 

“Sleep well?” He asked. Fireheart nodded. 

“Thank you.” He meowed. 

“I'd hope so. You were dead to the world when I came out for dawn patrol.” Sandstorm snorted. “I saved you a squirrel.” She added, gesturing to the piece of fresh-kill in front of him. The ginger tom dipped his head in thanks and tucked into the food. 

“You didn't eat yesterday.” Sandstorm admonished. 

“The Gathering was yesterday.” He reminded her. “I had my meal midday and I wasn't hungry after that.” 

“Sunrise, sunhigh and sunset. Moonhigh and in between when you're active.” She shot back. “We've discussed this.” 

“For the love of the Stars, Sandstorm, I can afford to miss a meal or two. It's not like there's an endless amount of prey as it is.” Fireheart scowled. 

“Exactly, so eat while you can still afford to.” The pale brown she-cat snapped. 

“Thanks.” Fireheart grumbled, turning away from his friend's obvious temper. 

“Brindleface isn't my mom.” She admitted softly after a few tense heartbeats. 

The ginger tom stiffened. Was he supposed to know this? 

“She's actually my niece.” Runningwind offered. “I had two sisters. Mousefur is still around, but Tulipwood died soon after Sandstorm was born.” 

Brindleface named one of her kits Tulip. Was that in honor of the she-cat who must have passed onto Sandstorm some of her strength? 

“Thank you both.” He murmured. “I'm honored that you've chosen to share this with me. And… I won't put up a fuss if you insist on feeding me every chance you get, but we all know the Clan comes first.”

Sandstorm dipped her head. 

“Indeed.” Runningwind murmured. 

* * *

The sunhigh  patrol wasn't his favorite thing in the world, but he didn't mind it in the colder days. Leafbare was on the wind, and he'd take all the sun he could get. His fur was growing thicker, so he could thank StarClan for that.

Still, it gave him time to reflect on the wealth of information he'd been given by Runningwind, as well as more of a perspective on Sandstorm.

The fact that he was hunting with Willowpelt and Whitestorm gave him the chance to see what they were like in this life, see just how much of what he'd heard from others was true. He hadn't known Willowpelt as well as, say, Greystripe or Ravenpaw, and he was curious. 

“You seem to have a fair amount in your mind, young tom.” Willowpelt offered as the three of them loped through the forest. If he was being that obvious… 

“My sister made that exact face whenever she wanted to share some of her medical knowledge like she wasn't sure I'd be interested.” The grey she-cat explained. “I'm sure whatever it is, I'll listen. I've been meaning to ask how your training is going.” 

“Really?” Fireheart's tail curled in delight. He hadn't known anyone was interested in his training beyond Yellowfang and Sandstorm. Dustpelt and Greystripe both nodded off whenever he tried to mention it, and he didn't have as much experience with anyone else to ask their opinion. It hit him just how little he knew about the cats he was growing up with, how self-centered he'd been in his last life. 

A tap on his flank brought him back to the present, and Whitestorm stared down at Fireheart with an amused gleam in his eyes. 

Willowpelt thwacked the white tom with her tail. 

“You've seen Spottedleaf do that.” She chuckled. “Give poor Fireheart a break.” 

“Poor Fireheart was about to smack head-first into a tree.” The white tom snickered.

The ginger warrior shook himself out and turned to Willowpelt. 

“I've decided to gain a basic working knowledge of what plants we use in the forest, because sure we have our medicine cats but what if they can't make it in time? Why should it be up to them to get to the other end of the territory just to slap a cobweb and some goldenseal on a wound?” He offered excitedly. 

“And you've kept up with your training well enough that both will benefit you in the near or distant future.” Whitestorm added approvingly. “Which is good, because you're right.” 

Willowpelt crept away and returned with a thrush that had landed beside a tree.

“How much did Spottedleaf tell you about her dreams?” Fireheart asked after a few heartbeats. 

“Well, sometimes she asked for an opinion or two. Different viewpoints can be good for trying to interpret something that StarClan might not make clear.” 

“Do you think, that is, would you be willing to hear my dreams as well?” Fireheart choked out. 

“I'd be honored.” Willowpelt purred, blue eyes soft. Whitestorm darted off to mark the border with RiverClan, padding up and down Sunningrocks and occasionally stopping to bask in the weak afternoon sun. Willowpelt watched her friend with pride.

“That'll certainly send a message.” She snickered to Fireheart. “Not many can tell, but Sunningrocks is Whitestorm’s favorite place to be. He likes to watch the river and lay in the sun's warmth. Sometimes he'll even watch RiverClan cats catch their prey.” 

“Sounds like fun.” Fireheart mused. “I doubt he's mean enough to distract them on purpose, but that'd be a sight to see.” 

The pair snickered as Whitestorm returned. 

“Whatever she says, it's all lies!” He hissed playfully. “Willowpelt likes to ruffle my fur by telling other cats weird stories about me. She's got Tigerclaw thinking I've tasted fish!” He scoffed. 

“Let's get back to camp.” Fireheart snorted. “Bluestar’s probably chosen who's going to help bring WindClan back.”

* * *

“Good, the sunhigh patrol is back.” Bluestar purred upon seeing them. “No trouble, I hope?”

“Not from RiverClan. Whitestorm took a bit longer to enjoy Sunningrocks that we anticipated.” Fireheart chortled. 

“Oh, bite your tongue, youngster!” Whitestorm scoffed. “You haven't set paw on Sunningrocks since the day you arrived.” 

_ And there was good reason for that.  _

Fireheart and Bluestar shared a dark look before Bluestar touched her nose to Whitestorm's neck. 

“I’m so proud of you.” She murmured. 

The white tom’s short purr was audible to Tigerclaw, who twitched an ear despite being a good few pawsteps away from joining them under the Highrock. 

Fireheart wondered briefly what there was to be proud of, but then he recalled what Greystripe said all those moons ago. Whitestorm didn't get out much, and he tended not to be casual with many cats. As the realization hit, Fireheart felt his fur grow warm. The snow-furred tom had shown part of himself to Fireheart that he probably wouldn't be willing to share with many others. Because while he was friendly and wise, Whitestorm wasn't all that social. 

A tap on his flank had the ginger tom staring into his snowy mentor's endless yellow gaze.

“Perhaps you should be a medicine cat.” Whitestorm teased. “I'd hate to see you get lost in the middle of battle.” 

“I can take you on whether I'm lost in thought or with all my claws sheathed!” Fireheart teased. 

“We'll see someday.” The older tom smirked. Bluestar’s call from the Highrock led them to join the Clan, and Fireheart realized that Willowpelt had wandered off to sit by Goldenflower and Tigerclaw. The dark brown tabby shot him a look that wasn't quite anger or hatred. More… was that envy? Evil or not, this was one of the greatest warriors in the forest. What could Tigerclaw possibly have to envy him over? 

His thoughts were cleared by Bluestar's announcement. 

“I have thought well about who will be part of the patrol who accompanies WindClan back to the uplands.” 

The Clan waited with held breath as the leader hesitated to say the names. 

“Fireheart and Runningwind will join the others next sunrise. Good luck to you both.” 

Runningwind was a good choice for this task. He was calm in the face of potential danger and reasonable under pressure. But why did Bluestar choose  _ him _ ? The ginger tom has been a warrior for barely a quarter of a moon and here he was being sent on his first serious task for the Clan. He briefly wondered if this was how Squirrelflight felt when she'd been chosen by him to do the same. Fireheart shook himself out and raised his head to the acceptance and well wishes of his 

Clanmates. Aside from him having an unclear dream about WindClan’s location, there was no reason for him to be on this trip. 

But as Sandstorm and his former denmates meowed their congratulations, he felt that just maybe, he could do this. 

 


	5. Four

Fireheart and Runningwind padded out of camp alongside the dawn patrol the next morning, having gotten fair amounts of rest and eaten the traveling herbs that a curious Yellowfang had prepared for them. They met the other four cats at Fourtrees, and Fireheart was glad to see that Wetfoot was one of the ShadowClan cats sent. A familiar face would do wonders for his nerves. He was also surprised to see someone he hadn't thought about in a while. Silverstream was Greystripe's first love in Firestar's previous life and looking back on it, they were perfect for each other. Arrogant cats who didn't look before they leaped or think about the consequences of their actions, and usually got what they wanted anyway. This version of Greystripe didn't seem much better, but maybe he'd judged Silverstream too harshly. 

The other cats on patrol introduced themselves as Greenflower of RiverClan and Oakpaw of ShadowClan. Now that Fireheart was paying more attention, he remembered Oakpaw from the Gathering. Considering that ShadowClan had to kick out over half their Clan, they could be forgiven for sending an apprentice to do a warrior's job. Still, he resolved to keep an eye on the young brown tom. StarClan forbid something happens to him.  From Fourtrees, they went to the WindClan camp. Nobody knew where the WindClan camp was, but the group scented their way through wind-stricken and seemingly barren territory, grateful for every unfamiliar whiff of cat that blew their way. 

In the end, Greenflower noticed the rocks that seemed to jut from the middle of the ground. Fireheart raced ahead of the group, eager to see if the camp was as he remembered it. Indeed, it looked as if a StarClan warrior had reached down from the sky, scooped a pawful of peat from the plateau, and replaced it with a thick tangle of gorse that grew almost to the level of the ground on either side. The camp was the only thing that remained sheltered from the wind, and there were plenty of scents to pick up there. 

The group found Fireheart staring, wide-eyed at the carnage around them. Wetfoot crouched over Oakpaw so that his apprentice couldn't see just how terrible it was. WindClan was a moderately sized Clan in the forest of his old life, and like ShadowClan, they lost some of their forces to Brokenstar. 

A small whimper barely surprised Fireheart, but Silverstream burying her head into his pelt sure did. He was the closest cat there, he noticed, with Greenflower having gone to explore the dens and Wetfoot having shuffled a protesting Oakpaw away.

“Did they truly just leave them here?” Silverstream whispered, horrified. It had been moons since ShadowClan drove WindClan out, and the (surprisingly few) bodies left behind were all but bone.

Clumps of fur littered the ground, and dried blood stained the sand. Mossy nests had been dragged out of dens and torn apart. And everywhere, stale ShadowClan scents mingled with the smell of terrified WindClan cats. It was a horrible sight, and he was surprised that no predator tried their paw at a feast. The thought was banished from his mind as soon as it entered. How dare he? Besides, with this wind, what predator would scent anything? 

So he focused on catching and following scents. No cat dared to touch anything that wasn't grass, and when Greenflower returned from peeking in the dens, they huddled together and left. 

The scent trail was quite clear now—definitely WindClan, but mixed and pungent, as if made by many frightened cats. Fireheart looked down. Drops of dried blood dotted the ground. 

“We’re heading the right way,” he meowed darkly. Moons of bad weather failed to wash away the signs of suffering. Fireheart could clearly picture the defeated and injured Clan fleeing from their home. With a surge of anger, he bounded after the group. The trail led them to the far edge of the uplands, where they stopped to catch their breath. In front of them, the ground sloped away to the Twoleg farmland. Far in the distance, where the sun was beginning to set, loomed the towering shapes of Highstones.

That reminded him… 

“How's Nightpelt?” He asked Wetfoot. 

“Probably on his way to the Moonstone now.” The grey tabby informed them. 

* * *

 

The six cats started down the slope, carefully sniffing each clump of grass to make sure they all stayed on the WindClan trail. 

“It doesn’t look like they were heading for Highstones,” Runningwind remarked. The trail took them sideways into a wide grassy field. They skirted the edge, staying near the hedgerow as they dogged the trail. The scents led them out of the field and onto a Twoleg path through a small copse of trees. 

“Look!” Greenflower meowed. Sun-bleached piles of prey bones lay scattered in the undergrowth. Mossy bedding had been gathered beneath the thickest patches of brambles. 

“WindClan must have tried to settle here,” Wetfoot meowed in surprise. “What could have made them leave?” He wondered, sniffing the air. 

“The scent is old.” Runningwind noticed. They followed the trail onward, to a thick hedge. Five of them struggled through the hedge where Oakpaw was able to slip through easily. It made Fireheart wonder just when the kit would get as big as he or Wetfoot. ShadowClan's conditions had been abhorrent and they were healing every day. Surely they wouldn't lose more cats to starvation and illness so soon after they gained their freedom?! 

The other side of the hedge opened to a grass verge. Beyond a narrow ditch lay a wide earth track. Silverstream and Greenflower leaped nimbly over the ditch and onto the hard red track. Fireheart looked around, stiffening as he recognized a hard-edged silhouette in the distance. 

“Wait!” he hissed. 

“See something?” The silver she-cat wondered. 

Fireheart pointed with his nose. 

“There could be dogs in that Twolegplace up ahead.” He warned.

“But WindClan definitely came this way.” Greenflower insisted.

“Then we’ll have to hurry. We need to get past the Twoleg nest before sunset.” Fireheart remembered from tales during his his kitten days that Twolegs liked their dogs outside at night. The sun was already sinking toward the craggy tops of Highstones. He nodded. “Perhaps the dogs chased WindClan out of the woods.” Runningwind offered grimly. 

They padded on, noses wriggling furiously as they scented for any scrap of WindClan’s presence. They kept a scattered trail, working in silence with the occasional meow to mark a lost or found scent. 

* * *

 

“Can we,” Oakpaw panted. “stop for the night?”    


Fireheart stiffened from where he had marked yet another potential scent as a dead end. Wetfoot bolted back toward his apprentice, horrified. 

They’d been so focused on finding WindClan that they’d neglected everything else, including their own needs. 

“Great StarClan, Oakpaw, you shouldn’t have to be stumbling and panting for me to pay attention to you!” The grey tom admonished his brown apprentice, fretting heavily as he nosed the ‘paw to a sitting position. Oakpaw narrowed his eyes and jerked away. 

“I’m fine!” He groused. “And I can keep up with you alright. I just thought it’d be a good idea to go hunting or stop for the night.”    
Wetfoot buried his face in Oakpaw’s fur. 

“Of course.” He murmured. “You should never have to ask for food or rest, little one.”    


“It is getting close to passing sunset. We’ve been working all day. There’s no reason we can’t rest and eat.” Runningwind offered.    


“What if the scents go stale?” Greenflower insisted. Fireheart fought the urge to lash out at her. They couldn’t afford to drop from exhaustion. Sandstorm’s voice rang in his ears, furious. 

_ Sunrise, sunhigh and sunset. Moonhigh and in between when you're active… _

“The trail will have to wait.” Fireheart insisted firmly. “We can’t help WindClan if we’re too exhausted and hungry to do anything. First thing’s first, we should find shelter. Do we want to split up and do that or should we stick together?”

The others stared at him, surprised, and he shook himself out, smoothing down his chest fur with a few embarrassed licks. 

“Sorry,” He murmured. “I uh, when I was a kittypet, my friends and I would stray from our gardens, and anytime we got lost or couldn’t find our homes at night, we had to make do. I was the most adventurous, so they all assumed I knew what I was doing.” 

“You’ve got a point about finding food and shelter, but try not to make a habit of bossing everyone around.” Silverstream teased. “You’re not a deputy yet.” 

“You say that like I’ve got a chance.” Fireheart snorted. “There are so many other cats in ThunderClan with more experience that it’d be a winter’s day in StarClan before anyone asked me to lead.” 

“Our ancestors better have thick pelts because you’ve got leader potential.” Runningwing snorted. 

“I dunno about the rest of these cats, but you sounded like Nightpelt to me.” Oakpaw chirped. 

“As for what you said, I think it’d be better to stick together.” Greenflower pointed out. “We don’t know this area well enough to go wandering on our own.” 

“We came in pairs, so if someone spots a mouse or something we should break away from the group in pairs.” Runningwind offered. 

So the six cats set out in search of prey and shelter. They found that the former was surprisingly plenty and the latter wasn't as easy to find. They nestled in the roots of a large tree, having buried their catches not too far away. 

“Fair warning,” Fireheart offered. “I have nightmares so if I'm too loud or I squish anyone, just let me know.” 

“Sure thing.” Silverstream spoke aloud, but the others nodded solemnly. 

“We'll be fine.” Runningwind murmured comfortingly. “Sleep, though. We have a hard time ahead of us."

The group was refreshed and ready to go by dawn, Wetfoot dragging along a protesting Oakpaw. Silverstream whined similarly, but was on her paws nonetheless. 

* * *

They would spend the next few days searching for the scattered, dissipating trail left by the frightened outcast Clan.

Wetfoot was the one to find the tunnel. 

“Look!” 

Fireheart stopped and lifted his head. He saw a Thunderpath ahead of them arching high into the air on massive stone legs, illuminated by the eyes of the monsters that moved along it. Another Thunderpath ran below, veering off into the darkness. 

Runningwind nodded toward a tall thistle. 

“And smell this!” Fireheart inhaled the scent. It was a fresh WindClan marker! 

“They must have settled somewhere near here!” Silverstream murmured in disbelief. 

A pang of excitement twisted Fireheart’s stomach. All the cats stared quietly at each other. Then, without a word, they moved on toward the Thunderpaths. 

Oakpaw spoke after the group trekked for a few moments. 

“Why would WindClan come to a place like this?” He wondered. 

“Even Brokenstar wouldn't follow them here.” Greenflower scoffed darkly. 

Cautiously, the group approached the spot where the WindClan scent grew thickest. As they neared, they saw a hole in the earth. Like their resting place on the previous night, the entrance was round and lined with stone, sloping away into utter blackness. Fireheart led the way, all his senses alert for a WindClan patrol. The floor beneath his paws felt wet and slimy, and the sound of trickling water echoed around them. As the tunnel leveled out, Fireheart pricked his ears and opened his mouth. 

The damp air smelled rank and bitter—worse than the tunnel the group had slept in. Here the Thunderpath fumes mingled with the fear-scent of WindClan cats. It was too dark to see anything, but after a few paces, Fireheart’s whiskers sensed a turning in the tunnel. Fireheart flicked his tail, touching Silverstream, the closest cat, lightly. He couldn’t see the RiverClan she-cat in the darkness, but she must have felt the signal because she stopped beside Fireheart and they were the first to peer around the corner. 

Ahead of them, the tunnel was lit by a narrow hole in the ceiling that led to the wasteland above. Fireheart could see many cats huddled together in the gray light—warriors and elders, queens and kits, all pitifully thin. A cold breeze blew relentlessly through the hole in the roof, stirring the thin fur on skinny bodies. Fireheart shuddered, for the breeze carried to him the stench of sickness and crowfood. Suddenly the tunnel shook as a monster roared overhead. 

The group, already tense, jumped, but the WindClan cats didn’t react. They simply huddled with half-closed eyes, numb to their surroundings. The noise died away. Fireheart took a deep breath and stepped around the corner, out into the thin light. Silverstream was on one side and Runningwind on the other. Oakpaw ducked between Fireheart’s legs and made to bolt straight for the WindClan cats. He was yanked back by Runningwind with a yelp, and that brought the tense peace to a stuttering halt.

A gray WindClan tom spun around, fur standing on end as he yowled an alarm to the rest of the Clan. In one smooth movement, the WindClan warriors formed a line across the tunnel in front of the queens and elders, their backs arched, hissing fiercely. With a feeling of dread, Fireheart saw the glint of unsheathed claws and thorn-sharp fangs. These half-starved cats were about to attack!


	6. Five

“Stars, Oakpaw, you have to be careful! These cats haven't seen anyone outside of each other in who knows how many moons.” Wetfoot rebuked gently. “They may not welcome outsiders that easily.” 

Strangely enough, the WindClan warriors stood their ground without moving a muscle. 

_ They’re waiting? _ Fireheart realized.  _ They still follow the warrior code, after all this time…  _

From behind the line of warriors,  a black-and-white tom weaved his way to the front. With a jolt, Fireheart recognized the long-tailed cat from his dream. 

_ Tallstar, leader of WindClan. _ It was strange, not seeing the tom as the oldest cat he'd known by the lake. Tallstar sniffed the air, but Fireheart and the rest were downwind, their scents carried away by the steady breeze.  As the black-and-white cat walked toward them, Fireheart breathed in the rank odor of crowfood that hung on his coat. He and the rest remained still, eyes down, as Tallstar circled them, sniffing their fur closely. Finally, Tallstar called to his warriors. 

“ThunderClan!” He hissed when he took in the scents of he and Runningwind before moving on. 

“RiverClan.” He announced of Silverstream and  Greenflower.

Then he glared at the two remaining cats. Oakpaw was pouting, but he saw Tallstar approach and hopped to his paws, excited all over again.

“It's an honor to meet you!” He chirped. 

The WindClan leader twitched an ear and stalked closer to them. Fireheart narrowed his eyes, having matched the black and white tom step for step. 

“I expected ShadowClan to send more than an undersized apprentice and an underfed warrior.” Tallstar sneered. 

“They're with the rest of us.” Runningwind broke in smoothly, noticing the way Fireheart bristled. “ShadowClan has driven out Brokenstar and his rogues, and all three Clans request that WindClan take their place in the uplands once more.”

The warriors behind Tallstar turned and looked at one another. Murmurs of surprise rippled through the Clan. 

“Well, ShadowClanners, tell us more. Is the forest truly free of your leader?”

“Brokentail is no longer leader of ShadowClan. And we’d thank you to never mention him again. Nightpelt, one of our more seniors warriors, has been chosen to become the leader. StarClan willing, he has received his nine lives.” 

“StarClan… you believe they still look after us?” 

“They were the ones to lead us here.” Fireheart hissed, fed up. “If it were not for what they sent, we would still be wandering around trying to find you all. Your ancestors never gave up on you. As for your distaste of ShadowClan, you will have to set that aside, because the cats who remain were not the ones willing to drive you out. As Wetfoot said, Brokenstar no longer resides in the forest. If you believe anything that has happened,  believe the young apprentice you just scorned for smelling like the marshes, of which he had no control.” 

“Indeed…” Tallstar scowled, remaining still for a few heartbeats. 

“Step forward, apprentice.  You have no need to fear me any more than I have to need to fear you. It is nice to see an apprentice so eager to greet his elders.” 

Oakpaw shuffled forward nervously, eyes wide. 

“You… you're not mad?”He whispered. 

“Not at you and yours, little one. Come, WindClan! It is long past time for us to return home, and these cats know the way.”

Another monster roared overhead. Fireheart and the others flinched. Tallstar watched them with amusement and flicked his tail. It must have been a signal, for the line of warriors behind him split up. 

“We shall leave at once,”  he announced, standing up. 

“Are  we all  fit for the  journey?” Tallstar asked as the warriors began to move among the queens and elders. 

“All except Morningflower’s kit,” replied a mottled brown warrior. “He  is too young.” 

“Then we must take turns carrying him,” answered Tallstar. The  WindClan cats shuffled forward, their eyes dull with pain and exhaustion. A tortoiseshell queen was holding a tiny kit gently by the scruff of its neck. The little creature’s eyes were hardly open. 

“Ready?”  called Tallstar. A black tom with a misshapen paw looked around the  Clan and answered for them. 

“Ready,”  he meowed. The group turned and made their way back to the tunnel entrance, content to wait while the WindClan cats emerged blinking into the daylight. 

“That was quite a speech.” Wetfoot murmured quietly. “Thank you for standing up for us.” 

“Any of us would have done it.” Greenflower purred warmly. “You were affected far more by Brokenstar’s reign than any of us. The WindClan cats will have to cooperate for now.”

“I do not blame them for their bitterness.” The grey tom sighed.”ShadowClan has done them wrong.” 

“And you shall work to make it right.” Runningwind insisted. “We give you two moons of peace to do so.”

Some  of the  elders blinked so  long, their faces screwed up against  the weak sun, that Fireheart guessed they  had not been outside the tunnel for some time. Tallstar padded out  of the tunnel last of all and walked to the head of his Clan. “Shall  we take you back the way we came?” Silverstream asked him. “I believe it’s  a shortcut.” 

“Is  it safe?”  asked Tallstar. 

The  hunted  look in the  leader’s eyes made Oakpaw flinch.

“We  met no trouble  coming here,” Wetfoot  meowed. Tallstar flicked his  tail decisively, as though he  were brushing away any doubt. 

“Good,”  he declared. “You come  with me, Wetfoot. Show me  the way. Fireheart, the rest of you will travel  beside the Clan. Tell my deputy if you see trouble.” 

“Which  one is he?”  asked Fireheart. Tallstar nodded toward the  black tom. 

“Deadfoot,”  he meowed. The  warrior turned at  the sound of his name  and pricked his ears. Fireheart  dipped his head in greeting. He couldn't say he recalled much of Deadfoot, but if anyone ever got hurt like Cinderpelt had the first time, Fireheart knew of a potential ally.

He  left  Wetfoot  with Tallstar and joined  the other cats. As the Clan  made their way under the Thunderpath arch, he  could still smell the fire, but when they padded out  onto the patch of wasteland, the Twolegs were nowhere to  be seen. Wetfoot headed straight for the tunnel where they had spent  the night. Tallstar entered first, while the others weaved through WindClan. He and Silverstream waited at  the back until all the Clan had disappeared inside. Deadfoot remained. 

“Are  you sure  it leads to  daylight?” the  black tom meowed  warily. 

“It  just leads  under the Thunderpath.” Silverstream assured him gently.

“When our warriors  cross the Thunderpath, they  prefer to see where they’re  heading,” growled Deadfoot, noticing Fireheart’s skeptical look. 

Fireheart  nodded quickly, chagrined.

“You go  first.” The black tom insisted.

They  padded down into  the dark hole and emerged to  find the WindClan cats staring  across the field that led to the  final Thunderpath. Fireheart saw Tallstar consult  briefly with Wetfoot before they set off into the  long, frost-crisp grass. Fireheart and the other five walked  among the rest of the Clan. Silverstream and Greenflower had fallen behind to help those who kept a slower pace. Fireheart loped on one  side while Deadfoot limped steadily on the other. Before they were halfway across the field, it was clear that many of the cats were  having trouble keeping up. 

“Tallstar!”  yowled Deadfoot. “We  need to travel more  slowly!” 

Fireheart  looked over his  shoulder and saw some  of the cats falling farther  and farther behind. Morningflower was  among them, the kit swinging from her mouth. Fireheart  bounded over to the queen, who panted heavily. It couldn’t have  been long since her kitting. 

“Let  me carry him,”  Fireheart offered. “Just  until you have caught your breath.” 

Morningflower glanced  warily at Fireheart, but  her eyes softened when they  met his. She put her kit down, and Fireheart  took it gently and walked next to her so that  she didn’t lose sight of her precious bundle. Tallstar slowed  the pace by only a little. In spite of his obvious exhaustion, and the  fact that every rib showed under his fur, he burned with a fierce energy  that lent swiftness to his paws. Fireheart could understand part of the reason for his  urgency. The sun was steadily climbing above the horizon. Some of the WindClan cats were  sick, some old, and all of them were weak from hunger. If they were going to cross the Thunderpath without  losing any cats, they would have to do it quickly, before the monsters came in their swarms. By the time Fireheart  and Morningflower arrived at the hedge, WindClan was gathered around its leader. 

“We cross the Thunderpath here,”  Tallstar announced above  the noise of a monster racing  past. The WindClan leader squeezed  under the hedge. Deadfoot, Wetfoot, and a  younger warrior followed him. Morningflower leaned  toward Fireheart and took hold of her kit. She had stopped panting  now, and as she took the kit from Fireheart she brushed her cheek gratefully  against his. He dipped his head to the tortoiseshell queen and followed Wetfoot  under the hedge. Tallstar and Deadfoot sat staring wordlessly at the wide gray path. Wetfoot stood beside them and flicked his tail toward the younger warrior. 

“This is Onewhisker,”  he told Fireheart. A monster sped past, almost drowning out the introduction and whipping up stinging dust. Through streaming eyes, Fireheart mewed a  greeting to Onewhisker and turned his attention to the Thunderpath. 

“We should try to get the Clan over in small groups,” he meowed. “The six of us will stay with  any that need help.” He looked at the Clan leader. 

“If you agree,  Tallstar,” he added. The leader nodded.

“The strongest group will go first,” he meowed. The others began to appear through the hedge. Before long the whole Clan was clustered beside them, pressed against the sharp twigs, as far back from the Thunderpath as possible. The six outsiders positioned themselves along the edge, watching for a break in the line of monsters. The Thunderpath was much busier than it had been when they’d crossed last night. Onewhisker led the first group forward.

“Do you want  us to cross with  you?” Fireheart offered, noticing the young tom’s fear. The mottled brown tabby shook his head. The cats beside him peered along the Thunderpath first one way, then the other. All was quiet, and the group dashed safely over to the other side. Two warriors came next, accompanied by a pair of skinny elders. 

“Now!”  Greenflower ordered as a monster flashed safely past. The four WindClan cats stepped out onto the empty Thunderpath. The elders winced as they padded across on paws raw from the damp tunnel. Fireheart willed them on breathlessly as they neared the other side. A monster was zooming toward them. 

“Look out!”  Oakpaw yowled, and even the two elders bounded forward, fur bristling,  and hurled themselves onto the other side a heartbeat before the monster raced past. Two larger groups crossed, leaving just one more. Only once they were safely over would Tallstar and Deadfoot cross. Morningflower and her kit stepped up to Fireheart’s side. Behind her trembled three very elderly cats. 

“We’ll cross with you,” The ginger tom meowed. He looked at Wetfoot, who nodded. “Tell  us when it’s safe to go, Wetfoot.” Fireheart leaned forward to take Morningflower’s kit, but she pulled back, her ears flat. Fireheart looked deep into her frightened amber eyes and understood. She and her kit would live or die together. 

“Now!”  At Wetfoot's yowl, Fireheart and Morningflower stepped out onto the Thunderpath. The elders crept out behind them with Wetfoot beside them. Time seemed to stand still as the elders hobbled slowly forward on stiff, battle-scarred legs.  

_ If a monster comes now, we’re all fresh-kill _ , Fireheart thought. The other side was still several rabbit leaps away. 

“Come on,” urged Wetfoot, nudging them along. The elders tried to hurry, but one stumbled, and Wetfoot had to nose him back onto his paws. Fireheart heard the distant roar of a monster. 

“Go on ahead!”  he hissed to Morningflower. “We’ll  bring the elders.” 

Morningflower stumbled forward. Her kit squealed as it bumped against the hard ground. Fireheart and Wetfoot pressed themselves against the elders’ scrawny bodies, nudging them forward. The noise of the approaching monster grew louder and louder. Fireheart grabbed the nearest elder by the scruff of the neck and dragged him forward, before turning to haul the second closer to the verge. The monster raced closer. Fireheart closed his eyes and braced himself. There was a screech and an acrid smell that stung his throat, then a fading roar as the monster sped away. Fireheart opened his eyes and looked around. Wetfoot crouched over an elder in the middle of the Thunderpath, unscathed, but staring with eyes as wide as full moons. The other two elders trembled near the verge. The monster was hurtling away from them, swerving across the Thunderpath. 

_ Thank you StarClan! _

It had missed them all. Fireheart took a  shuddering breath. 

“Come on,” he meowed to the last elder. “Almost  there.” Tallstar bounded across with Deadfoot and gathered his trembling Clan around him on the verge.

Onewhisker touched Fireheart’s nose with his own. 

“You would have died for us,” he murmured. “WindClan will never  forget that.” 

Tallstar’s voice sounded behind them. 

“Onewhisker is  right; we shall  honor you all in our stories.” 

“We must keep going,”  Deadfoot insisted. “We  have a long journey ahead of us.” 

As the cats prepared to move off, Fireheart padded over to Morningflower. She was busy licking her kit. 

“Is  he all  right?” Fireheart asked. 

“Oh,  yes,” answered  Morningflower mid-lick.

“What about you?”  asked Fireheart. 

Morningflower didn’t respond. Fireheart turned to a grey queen, who answered his unspoken question. 

“Don’t worry,” she meowed. “I’ll take  the kit next.” 

* * *

The  Clan followed the hedgerow along the  Thunderpath before turning away to join the track through the woods. The scents here seemed to soothe the WindClan cats, but the journey had taken its toll; they were traveling slower than ever.

“Tallstar, perhaps we should stop for the night!” The grey queen who stayed with Morningflower insisted. “I doubt any of us will get further than we already have.”

“Persistent as always, Ashfoot.” Deadfoot snorted. They sheltered in the fields beyond and Fireheart drifted into an uneasy sleep.

* * *

 

Fireheart jolted awake to find Silverstream and Greenflower on one side of him with Wetfoot and Runningwind on the other side. Oakpaw had scrambled onto his mentor’s back and now splayed out between Wetfoot and Runningwind. Cats were all around him, and it took a while to remember what happened.  He got to his paws and shook himself out, causing Silverstream to roll toward Greenflower and Oakpaw to curl up beside Runningwind. He picked his way through the field, stopping to catch a mouse every now and then. Prey wasn't usually that clever, but you’d think they’d know a cat when they scented one. 

He brought three mice to the WindClan cats who had chosen to stand guard and buried the rest for the morning. Energy spent, he laid back down and allowed Silverstream and Oakpaw to burrow into his fur. It was almost like having his family back again. Stars, he missed Sandstorm. 

 


	7. Six

Surprisingly enough, the journey back was quicker than the one there, four sunrises to the original quarter-moon.

By sunhigh of the fourth day, dark clouds gathered once more and the first drops of rain were beginning to fall. The ground began to slope upward, and when Fireheart pushed his way through a hedge, he recognized the red dirt track that led away from Twoleg territory and into WindClan’s hunting grounds. His spirits soared, and he met Runningwind gaze with a look of triumph.

_ Nearly there!  _

The muffled tramp of pawsteps sounded behind them. Fireheart spun around and darted back into the field. The rest had caught up with them and Deadfoot was at the head of the group. He looked startled by Fireheart's sudden appearance. 

“This way,” The ginger tom meowed, showing him the gap through the dropping leaves. 

He was eager to see WindClan’s reaction when they glimpsed the uplands on the other side. With Deadfoot leading, the cats began to file slowly through. Fireheart followed close behind the last cat, but Deadfoot and two warriors had already leaped into the ditch and crossed the track and were pushing into the hedgerow on the other side. Their pace had quickened—they clearly knew where they were. 

The non-WindClan cats had to sprint to catch up. Fireheart kept up with them as they bounded toward the long slope that led to the uplands, and their home. At the foot of the slope, Deadfoot and his warriors paused to wait for the rest of the Clan. They closed their eyes against the rain but held their heads high. Fireheart could see their chests rising and falling as they breathed in the familiar scents sweeping from the uplands. 

Fireheart ran back toward the rest of the Clan, looking for Morningflower. He spotted her walking beside a tabby warrior who held her kit in his mouth. Every few steps the tortoiseshell queen stretched her head to sniff the wet little bundle. It would not be long now before she could settle her kit into the WindClan nursery. Fireheart fell into step beside Greenflower at the rear. 

They glanced happily at each other but didn’t speak, too caught up in WindClan’s excitement at coming home. Even the elders were moving swiftly now, keeping their bodies low and their eyes narrowed against the rain. As the Clan joined Deadfoot at the foot of the slope, the deputy got to his paws and Tallstar took the lead. Without pausing, Tallstar began to follow a narrow sheep trail through the rough grass and heather. 

As the Clan neared the top, some of the warriors raced ahead again. At the brow of the hill, they made proud silhouettes against the stormy sky, while the wind sent ripples through their fur. Ahead stretched their old hunting grounds. Suddenly two apprentices charged past Silverstream and bounded away into the familiar heather. 

“Wait!” Tallstar ordered. “Warriors will go in first. We left in such a hurry that we'll know not what remains of our camp.”

As soon as they heard him, the apprentices skidded to a halt and pelted back to join the Clan, their eyes still bright with exhilaration. From a rock-strewn ridge, Fireheart saw the dip in the ground that concealed WindClan’s camp. With a purr of delight, Morningflower took her kit from the mouth of the tabby warrior and hurried toward the hollow. Tallstar flicked his tail and three warriors raced forward to escort her as she disappeared over the edge and down into the camp. The WindClan leader paused while the rest of his Clan rushed into the sheltering bushes below. He turned to the outside patrol, his eyes shining. 

“My Clan is grateful for your help,” he meowed. “You have all proven yourselves worthy of StarClan. WindClan has come home, and it is time for you to return to yours.” 

Fireheart felt a pang of disappointment. He’d wanted to see Morningflower settled in the nursery with Gorsekit. But Tallstar was right: there was no need for them to stay here any longer. Tallstar spoke again. 

“Some of our warriors shall escort you all to Fourtrees.

Tallstar called to his warriors and gave them their orders. Then he turned his tired eyes once more to Fireheart. 

“You have served us well. Tell your leaders that WindClan will not forget they were so willing to uphold the Code by bringing them home.” 

He bent to face Oakpaw, who stared at him. 

“It was an honor to have traveled with you, Tallstar. I hope ShadowClan can restore your trust and I look forward to seeing you again. And the kit.” Oakpaw added hastily. He was doing his best to hide his trembling, but he looked exactly like he did when Fireheart first saw him at the Gathering.

“The honor is mine, young one. You will make a warrior beyond your Clan’s wildest hopes, and I look forward to hearing about your ceremony. I believe ShadowClan will be far more than alright in your capable paws.”

Oakpaw squeaked and turned to Wetfoot, eyes brimming with excitement. 

“The WindClan leader called me a warrior, Wetfoot, did you hear him? You all heard him, right?!” The little brown tom was over the moon with joy, hopping around excitedly. 

“Fireheart, you have to tell my friends exactly what he said, word for word! They'll never believe I got praise from a Clan leader!”

“I’ll make sure of it.” Fireheart promised. 


	8. Seven

_ It's good to be home _ , Fireheart mused as the last of the crowd faded. Runningwind padded off to another part of camp and Fireheart couldn't really be interested. His entire goal was to curl up with Sandstorm and be dead to the world for at least a quarter-moon. 

He found Sandstorm, much to his relief, but his intentions of sleep were banished by Bluestar’s call. 

“Guess it’s time for the ceremony.” Sandstorm chuckled at his groan. “You'll be able to sleep later.” She assured him. “Now pay attention.” 

Right, ceremony. Frostfur’s kits. Brackenfur, Cinderpelt, Thornclaw, and Brightheart. Ah, these four were the beginning of his reign in ThunderClan, his main helpers alongside Sandstorm, Greystripe, and Dustpelt… this family was also his first failure. Cinderpelt’s leg crushed by a monster, Brightheart savaged by dogs, Brackenfur barely got anyone’s attention, much less his. And Thornclaw… he knew next to nothing about the golden brown tom. He resolved to fix that. 

“Fireheart!” Bluestar snapped. “Perhaps I should give your apprentice to someone else. Mousefur, perhaps?” 

The ginger tom shook his head and stepped forward to greet the pair of she-cats. 

“Mousefur would get irritated too quickly with this one. Cinderpaw is definitely better off with me.” 

Mousefur snorted and rolled her eyes. Fireheart shot her a playful grin before prancing up to the edge of Highrock. 

“I expect you to pass on everything I taught you to this young apprentice and share with her the skills you learned from Tigerclaw and Lionheart.”

The pair touched noses and padded back into the crowd. Greystripe got Brackenpaw, of course, Sandstorm got Brightpaw and Dustpelt got Thornpaw. Good matches, all of them, but he resolved to keep an eye out for them. He might as well tell his denmates what they were in for.  His first day as a mentor wasn't very eventful for poor Cinderpaw. He showed her how to clean the dens with moss from the medicine cat’s storage, promising he'd take her out for moss as soon as he felt better. The journey had worn him down to the bone, and while he couldn't sleep for two moons like he wanted to, no one said anything against sleeping for multiple days. 

The next day was much better. She was so excited when he told her they were going on a border patrol that she raced to the gorse tunnel without a second thought. 

“Get back here, Cinderpaw, I know you haven't eaten anything yet. Have a mouse, at least.” 

The grey she-cat whined in protest but trudged over to the fresh-kill pile and plucked a small mouse from her mentor’s waiting paws. Fireheart himself chose a squirrel, and they set off into the forest. 

Cinderpaw raced past him and charged through the gorse tunnel. Fireheart had to break into a run to catch up. 

“I thought I said follow me!” he called as she scrambled up the side of the ravine. 

“But I want to see the view from the top,” Cinderpaw protested. Fireheart leaped after her. He overtook her easily, climbed to the top, and sat washing a forepaw, keeping an eye on her as she scrambled from rock to rock. By the time she reached the top of the camp ravine she was panting, but no less enthusiastic. 

“Look at the trees! They look like they’re made from Moonstone,” she mewed breathlessly. She was right. The trees below them sparkled white in the sunshine. Fireheart took a deep breath of cold air. 

“You should try to save your energy,” he warned. “We have a long way to go today.” 

“Oh, yes. Which way now?” She kneaded the ground with impatient paws, ready to dart away into the woods.

“Follow me,” meowed Fireheart. He narrowed his eyes playfully. “And this time I do mean  _ follow _ !” 

He led the way to a trail along the edge of the ravine, into the sandy hollow where he had learned to hunt and fight. “This is where most of our training sessions will be held,” he explained. During Greenleaf, the trees that circled the clearing filtered the sunshine into a warm dappled light. Now, cold daylight streamed down onto the frozen red earth. 

“A river ran here many moons ago. A stream still flows beyond that rise there,” meowed Fireheart, pointing with his muzzle. “It’s dry most of the summer. That’s where I caught my first prey.” 

“What did you catch?” Cinderpaw didn’t wait for an answer. “Will the stream be frozen? Let’s look and see if there’s ice!” She charged down into the hollow and headed toward the rise. 

“You’ll see it another time!” Fireheart laughed. Cinderpaw kept running, and Fireheart raced after her. He joined her at the top of the rise and together they looked down at the stream. Ice had formed at the edges, but the speed of the water as it slid over its sandy bed had stopped it from freezing over completely. 

“You wouldn’t catch much there now,” mewed Cinderpaw. “Except fish maybe.” The sight of the spot where he had caught his first prey filled Fireheart with happy memories. He watched Cinderpaw stand at the edge of the stream and crane her neck to peer into the black water. 

“If I were you, I’d leave the fishing to RiverClan,” Fireheart warned her. “If they like getting their fur wet, then let them. I prefer dry paws.” 

Cinderpaw nodded, padding restlessly around in a circle. 

“What now?” Her excitement reminded Fireheart of his own days with Bluestar….which gave him an idea. He bolted off.

“To the Owl Tree!” He called. Cinderpaw charged after him, her short fluffy tail sticking out behind her.

They crossed the stream over a fallen tree Fireheart had used many times before. 

“There are stepping stones farther down, but this is a quicker route. Be careful though!” 

The pale white trunk was stripped of its bark. 

“It gets slippery when it’s wet or icy.” 

He let Cinderpaw cross first, keeping close behind in case she lost her pawhold. The stream wasn’t particularly deep, but it would be cold as ice, and Cinderpaw was still too small to cope with a soaking. She crossed the log easily, and Fireheart felt a glow of pride as he watched his apprentice jump down onto the forest floor at the far end. 

“Well done,” he purred. 

Cinderpaw’s eyes shone. 

“Thanks,” she mewed. “Now, where’s this Owl Tree?” 

“This way!” Fireheart bounded away through the undergrowth. 

The ferns had turned brown since Greenleaf. By the end of leaf-fall, they would be flattened by rain and wind, but now they still stood tall and crisp. Fireheart and Cinderpaw wove their way beneath the arching fronds. Ahead, a massive oak towered above the surrounding trees. Cinderpaw tipped her head back, looking for the top. 

“Does an owl really live here?” she wondered. 

“Yes,”  replied Fireheart.  “Can you see the hole  in the trunk up there?” 

Cinderpaw narrowed her eyes to peer through the branches. 

“How  do you know  it’s not a squirrel hole?” 

“Smell!”  Fireheart told her. Cinderpaw sniffed loudly but shook her head, eyes curious as she looked up at Fireheart. “I’ll show you what  squirrels smell like another time.” Fireheart promised. 

“You won’t smell any around here. No squirrel would dare make its nest so near an owl hole. Look at  the ground; what do you see?” 

Cinderpaw looked down, puzzled. 

“Leaves?” 

“Try burrowing  under the leaves.” 

The forest floor was carpeted with brown oak leaves, crisp with frost. Cinderpaw began snuffling among them and then shoved her nose in right up to her ears. When she sat up there was something the size and shape of a pinecone in her mouth. 

“Yuck! smells like crowfood and tastes worse than herbs!”  she spat. Fireheart snickered.

“You knew  it was there,  didn’t you?” She accused mournfully.

“Bluestar played the same trick on me when I was an apprentice. You’ll  never forget the stench.” 

“What  is it?” 

“An owl pod,” Fireheart explained. He remembered what Bluestar had told him.  “Owls eat the same prey as us, but they can’t digest the bones and fur, so their bellies roll the leftovers into pods and they spit them out. If you find one of those  under a tree, it means you’ve found an owl.” 

“Why would you want to find an owl?” squeaked  Cinderpaw in alarm. Fireheart’s whiskers twitched as he looked into her wide eyes, as blue as her mother’s. 

Frostfur must have told her the elders’ tale of how owls carried off young kits who strayed from their mother’s side. 

“Owls get a better view of the forest than we do. On windy nights, when  scents are hard to follow, you can look out  for owls and follow where they hunt.”  

Cinderpaw’s eyes were still wide, them, and she nodded. She does _ listen sometimes! _

 Fireheart recalled with relief. 

“Where next?” asked Cinderpaw. 

“The  Great Sycamore,”  Fireheart decided. 

They traveled through the woods as the sun rose into the pale blue sky, crossing a Twoleg path and another tiny stream. Eventually, they arrived at the sycamore tree. 

“It’s  huge!” The little grey she-cat breathed in awe. 

“Smallear says he climbed to the top branch when he was an apprentice,”  Fireheart scoffed. 

“No way!”  mewed Cinderpaw. 

“Mind you, when  Smallear was an  apprentice, this tree  was probably only a sapling!”  Fireheart snorted jokingly.

He was still gazing up when a rustling sound behind him told him  Cinderpaw had dashed off again. He sighed, briefly reminded of all the times he'd watched Squirrelflight and Dustpelt do this exact same thing, and raced after her through the bracken. His nose detected a familiar scent that made him nervous. Cinderpaw was heading toward Snakerocks….  _ Adders! _

Fireheart picked up his pace, searching wildly as he emerged from the trees. Cinderpaw was standing on a boulder at the bottom of the steep, rocky slope. 

“Come on; I’ll race you to the top!” she mewed. Fireheart froze,  horror-struck, as she crouched, ready to spring onto the next boulder. 

“Cinderpaw! Get down from there!” he ordered sharply. He held his breath as Cinderpaw turned and scrambled down again. 

She stood trembling,  her fur on end, as  Fireheart rushed over to her. 

“What’d I-?”

“This place is called Snakerocks,”  he puffed. Cinderpaw looked up at him, her eyes huge. “

“Snakerocks?” 

“Adders live up there.  A bite from one  of those would kill a fully grown warrior,  let alone an apprentice your size.” Fireheart gave Cinderpaw a quick lick on top of her head.

“You have to look before you leap, Cinderpaw, promise me.” 

All his memories of the lively grey she-cat flashed before his eyes, and Fireheart resolved that nothing would hurt Cinderpaw. She would become a warrior this time.

 “Come on. Let’s have a look at the Thunderpath.” Cinderpaw stopped shaking at once. 

“The Thunderpath?” She chirped excitedly, ears perked. She'd been looking forward to this the entire day. 

“Yep,” meowed Fireheart. 

“Let's go! Let's go! Let's go!” She squealed. 

 


	9. Eight

He led Cinderpaw through the ferns, along a trail that skirted Snakerocks and took them to the part of the forest where the Thunderpath cut through like a hard, gray river of stone. Fireheart kept an eye on Cinderpaw as they peered out from the edge of the forest. He could see from her twitching tail that Cinderpaw was desperate to creep forward and sniff the Thunderpath ahead of them. A familiar roar was beginning to ruffle his ear fur, and he could feel the ground trembling beneath his paws. 

“Stay where you are!” he warned. “There’s a monster coming.” 

Cinderpaw opened her mouth a little. 

“Yuck!” she whined, screwing up her nose and flattening her ears. The rumbling noise was coming closer, and a shape appeared on the horizon. 

“Is that a monster?” she asked. Fireheart nodded. Cinderpaw unsheathed her claws to grip the earth as the monster roared closer. She shut her eyes tight as it charged past, stirring the air around them into a storm of wind and thunder. She kept her eyes shut until the noise had faded into the distance.

Fireheart shook his head to clear his scent glands.

“Sniff the air,” he offered. “Can  you smell anything apart from  the Thunderpath stench?”  

He waited while Cinderpaw lifted her head and took several deep breaths. After a few moments, she nodded, trembling again. 

“I remember that scent from when the huge cats attacked our camp… The huge white tom with paws as dark as the night sky… he's the one who took us. Is that… is that their territory beyond the  Thunderpath?” 

“Yes,” Fireheart murmured, feeling his fur tingle. He could only imagine what Cinderpaw must be thinking...

“We’d better get  out of here.” He decided to take Cinderpaw the long way home, past Twolegplace, so she could see  Tallpines and the Treecut place. As they padded beneath the thin pine trees, the scents of Twolegplace made Fireheart uneasy.

“Stay alert,”  he warned Cinderpaw as she crept along behind him.  “Twolegs sometimes walk here with  dogs.”

Mentor and apprentice crouched under the trees to look at the fences that bordered the Twoleg territory. The crisp air carried a scent to Fireheart’s nose that stirred an odd feeling of warmth inside him.

“Look!”  Cinderpaw pointed with her nose at a  she-cat padding across the forest floor. The light brown tabby had a distinctive white chest and white front paws. Her belly was swollen, heavy with unborn kits. 

Princess… his sister in both lives looked exactly the same.

“Kittypet!”  sneered Cinderpaw, her fur fluffed out. “Let’s  chase her out!” 

Fireheart shook his head. 

“Look at her belly, Cinderpaw. She’s going to have kits soon, like when your mother had you and your siblings. We don't attack she-cats who are known to have kits. It goes against everything in the warrior code. Do you understand?” 

“Yes, Fireheart.” 

“Now, what we can do is tell her that she's on Clan territory. Follow me and do exactly as I say.” 

The pair crept out from under the trees and approached the newcomer. 

“Hello?” She called nervously.

“Greetings.” Fireheart meowed calmly, nodding to his sister. Her face lit up with shock and joy. 

“Oh Rusty, it's you!” She purred. He let her tackle him to the ground and cover his face in licks. “ Thank the Stars, my brother's alive!” She whispered. 

“Didn't Smudge tell you?” 

“He said you ran away!” She whimpered. “That you insisted on going into the forest and he didn't know what happened to you!  Oh, Rusty, what made you go and do a thing like that?!” 

“Can you keep your voice down, Princess? We're surrounded by animals that can hear us.” 

“Oh, right. Sorry. I just… I haven't seen you in so long and then you pop up out of nowhere, with a kit in tow no less! I'd like to meet your mate someday.” 

“Oh, Cinderpaw isn't my kit. I live with a group of cats.  I'm training her to be a warrior, like me.” 

“A warrior? Do you have to fight a lot?!” 

“It depends. Some seasons are good and some aren't. We have land and prey to protect, and we have to fend for ourselves.” 

“Oh, I could never do that.” Princess murmured. “But I really like the sound of your group. Aren't there any other choices?”

“There are medicine cats.” Cinderpaw chirped. “They use herbs to heal everyone in the Clan. And they can talk to StarClan!” 

“What's StarClan?” Princess asked Cinderpaw.

“The cats who came before us and watch over us from the sky. They send dreams and prophecies to make sure we’re all okay.” 

“Wow…” Princess murmured. “Can I become a medicine cat, Rusty? I know every herb in my Twoleg’s garden! And Cody’s been teaching me how to hunt, so when I have my kits I can still help your group! Oh please, Rusty, can I come with you?!” 

“You don't want to stay with your Twolegs?” 

“Not really… don't get me wrong,  they've been wonderful! But… if I can't keep my kits then I can't stay with them. I have to know my kits, Rusty, I couldn't bear to have them taken away from me! I'll be the best medicine cat ever if I can just join your group!” 

“Well… it's not up to me. I can take you back to my camp, but there's no guarantee that they'll let you stay. Princess, I don't want you lost in the forest. It's far too on dangerous for a mother-to-be, much less a housecat who doesn't know how to defend themselves!” 

“Now _you're_ being loud.” Princess snickered. 

“I'll take you back to camp and we'll talk to my leader, but I can't let you wander off on your own.” 

“Then you better hope your leader sees my potential because I'm not letting the Twolegs take my kits.” 

 


	10. Nine

The three of them padded back to camp at a slower pace than they started out after Princess shed her collar. 

(“Oh, this dumb thing? Hold on, I just have to snag it on a branch.”)

Brackenpaw, Brightpaw, and Thornpaw instantly surrounded their sister, peppering her with questions about her day and the newcomer. Fireheart led Princess over to Highrock, where Bluestar padded out from her den. 

“What is the meaning of this?!” She snapped. “Your first day as a mentor and you bring a kittypet back to camp? A queen at that?!” 

“If you would allow me to state my case?” Princess hissed, rising to her paws and shielding her brother from his leader's view. 

The apprentices gasped, but Bluestar purred. 

“Continue.” She insisted.

 “I came into the forest looking for a place to stay. An old friend of Rusty’s told me that he ran off some time ago, and I wanted to see if I could follow him. My Twolegs have been kind to me, but they have a habit of taking kits from their mothers when they no longer need milk and sending them to different places. I don't want that for my kits, and when Rusty told me about his life in the forest, I asked him to take me with him. He tried to warn me off too, silly tom. All the same, whether you take me in or not, I’m not going back to Twolegs.” 

Bluestar studied the brown and white queen with an unreadable gaze. 

“Goldenflower!” She called after a few heartbeats. 

“Yes, Bluestar?” The yellow she-cat hurried over to her leader. 

“This newcomer will be staying with us for the foreseeable future, and would like a nest.”

“Oh thank StarClan.” Fireheart breathed. 

“Yes! Fireheart gets to keep his sister!” Cinderpaw screeched happily. Her siblings took up the call and soon, the whole Clan was whispering about the kittypet queen. 

“I didn't know you had a sister, Fireheart.” Willowpelt padded over to them and dipped her head in a friendly manner. 

“It's nice to meet you.” Princess murmured shyly. Fireheart recalled that her courage came in spurts. Most of the time she was polite and hid behind their mother, but every once in a while she would join him and their brothers in a playfight. She was never very good, but he was always happy that she tried.

 “We were littermates along with my brother and other sisters, but they got taken further than we did,” Fireheart explained. “I never really expected to see any of my family again, but if Princess is so against returning to her Twolegs then I'd rather have her with me.” 

“And what makes you think that's acceptable?” Tigerclaw growled. Fireheart jolted. He came out of nowhere! 

“Even you wouldn't hurt a mother, no matter your distaste for kittypets!” Willowpelt snapped. “This queen is brave enough to go against her Twolegs and step into the forest! You want to deny her the chance to keep her family together because she didn't grow up in the same nursery as you?! StarClan willing, your kits will inherit their mother’s kindness, you miserable excuse for a tom!”

Tigerclaw blinked, shocked, and turned tail for the Warriors Den. 

Willowpelt joined Princess in nervous laughter. 

“Come now, let’s get you set up.” 

Willowpelt led Princess to Goldenflower and Frostfur, who welcomed her with gentle purrs. 

“She'll be more than fine with them.” Bluestar assured her former apprentice. 

“I've only ever had you guys as family, and that's been enough for me so far… so why does this feel so different?” 

“Oftentimes there is a bond between littermates.” Bluestar explained. “We think it's got something to do with keeping your bloodline going along with your family.”

Fireheart nodded. 

“She's no fighter, for sure. She wants to be a medicine cat.  I remember that Yellowfang said medicine cats can't take a mate or have kits, but she really likes the idea of working with herbs and talking to StarClan. Do you think… do you think they'd accept her?” 

“The rule about medicine cats not having kits was set down long ago, to keep them impartial and able to care for all cats. If your sister can remain impartial, then I see no reason for StarClan to reject her. It's just as well, though. Kits are a good thing for any cat, and we’re lucky that she was so dedicated to the idea of leaving. She'll have no motivation to leave us.”

Fireheart nodded and Bluestar snorted.

“Go find Sandstorm.” She ordered. “Share a meal or something. Your pining is grating my nerves. You're practically mates already. You should just make it official.”

“What?! Bluestar, you don't understand, it took moons for her to come around to the idea of liking me the first time around! What makes you think-?” 

“I've been around for quite a while, Fireheart. An old cat knows young love when they see it.” Bluestar purred. “Go on, Fireheart, find your favorite she-cat.” 

The ginger tom snorted and shook his head before heading to the fresh-kill pile. He stopped halfway, then veered toward the camp entrance with a frustrated sigh. He didn't bother to see if Sandstorm had noticed, but Bluestar had a smug gleam in her eyes. 

Whatever. 

“Any particular reason you’ve been avoiding the rest of us?” Sandstorm asked. They padded on in silence for a few fox-lengths before she spoke again. 

“Your sister’s something else, standing up to Bluestar that way. I guess a fiery spirit runs in the family.” She chirped. 

“Yeah,” Fireheart mumbled. “I uh, I don't want you to feel weird about this or anything,  because I know I've been keeping you guys up to date with the stories from my dreams-.” 

“The ones about us in that other world? I like them, what of it?” 

“I love you!” He blurted out.  “And it's not just because of the dreams. There are things I love about you that the version of you in my dreams never did, and I've been wondering how to tell you but I didn't want you to freak out or assume that it was an because of the dreams, because they have nothing to do with this. I just… I love you, Sandstorm. Can we be mates?” 

Sandstorm stood frozen, eyes wide and staring at him. 

Fireheart fidgeted a bit and focused on staring at the ground. The tan she-cat turned to her ginger companion and lifted his head up with her own. 

“I love you too, mouse-brain. You’re amazing and that life you had in your dreams sounded so wonderful that I imagined myself living it with you… and if we ever do get around to seeing Leafpool and Squirrelflight, I'm sure they'll be the best cats ever.”

Fireheart closed his eyes and savored the moment.

“Thank you.” He purred. “Thank you so much, Sandstorm, I swear I'll be the best mate ever!” 

“Just keep being you, soft-heart, and I’ll keep on being me. We just get to be ourselves together.” 


	11. Ten

Not much changed. They already slept beside one another because she was the one best equipped to wake him up from his nightmares. They never broke their habit of eating together, and they both had apprentices of their own so it wasn't like one was noticeably busy. 

Still, he and Greystripe were on patrol with Cinderpaw and Brackenpaw about half a moon later when they ran into Silverstream. 

“Which  way is Sunningrocks?”  Cinderpaw bounded up one side of the hollow and peered into the forest, her tail sticking straight up. 

“Other way!”  meowed Fireheart,  leaping up the opposite side. 

“Okay.”  Cinderpaw raced down the slope, across the hollow, and up to Fireheart’s side, sending fallen leaves flying everywhere. Greystripe leaped up and caught one as it drifted past his nose. He pinned it to the ground with a purr of satisfaction and saw Brackenpaw staring at him.  

“Er, never miss a chance to practice your hunting skills,” Greystripe told him quickly. The four cats made their way along the familiar scent-trails to Sunningrocks. The sun was above the trees by the time they emerged into open territory. Ahead of them, a slope of rock rose out of the soft earth, its smooth surface lined with cracks. The cats had to narrow their eyes as they looked at it. After the shade of the woods, the flat rock face reflected the sun with a dazzling glare. 

“This is Sunningrocks,”  Fireheart announced, blinking. 

“Mrrrrr! It feels nice!”  mewed Cinderpaw as she raced up the stone slope behind him.  

Fireheart realized she was right. The stone felt comfortingly warm and smooth after the ice-cold forest floor. They rested at the top, where the far side fell away steeply to the forest. Fireheart listened for the gentle bubbling of the river that followed the  RiverClan border, flowing down from the uplands. It touched the Sunningrocks before turning to run deeper into RiverClan territory. He could barely hear it—perhaps the water was low after the dry weather. Fireheart stretched out, enjoying the warmth of the rock beneath him and the soft heat of the sun on his pelt. He closed his eyes, feeling proud to be lying here, a place where generations of ThunderClan cats had come to warm themselves, and which they had battled hard to keep. Greystripe joined him.  

“Come on,” he meowed to the two apprentices. “Make the most of the sun while it’s here. There are enough cold, damp  days ahead of us.”  

The siblings lay down beside their mentors and purred as the warmth seeped into their fur. 

“Is this where  Redtail died?”  asked Brackenpaw. 

“Yes,” Fireheart answered cautiously. 

“And  where Tigerclaw  avenged his death  by killing Oakheart?”  Cinderpaw piped up. Fireheart’s fur prickled as he remembered  _ exactly what happened _ during his first battle.

He did his best to push away  the disturbing thoughts and replied simply, “This  is the place.”  

The pair fell silent and looked down the slope in awe. Suddenly Fireheart heard a noise. He pricked his ears. 

“Hush,”  he hissed. “What  can you hear?” They strained their ears forward. 

“I  think I can hear some scrabbling,”  Brackenpaw whispered. 

“It might be a vole,”  murmured Greystripe. “Can  you tell where it’s coming  from?” 

“Over there!”  mewed Cinderpaw, leaping to her paws. The scrabbling noise became more furious and then disappeared. 

“I  think it heard you,”  Fireheart chuckled. Cinderpaw looked crestfallen. Brackenpaw purred with amusement at his sister’s clumsiness. 

“Never mind,” meowed  Greystripe. “Now you know that it’s better to creep up slowly, especially on voles. They’re fast!” 

“Sit still and listen,” Fireheart advised. “Next time we hear something, work out where it is and then begin to move toward it very slowly. A mouse could probably hear  even the rustling of your fur, so let him think it’s  just the wind blowing across the rock.” 

The cats remained where they were, no one daring to move until they heard the scrabbling sound again. His ears pricked, Fireheart rose and crept forward, placing each paw noiselessly in front of the other until he reached the edge of a small crack that ran across the rock face. He paused. The scrabbling noise continued. Fireheart lunged forward and reached down into the crack with a forepaw. He scooped out a fat vole that had been hiding in the shadows and flung it onto the bright stone. It squealed as it landed, but the hard ground stunned it and Fireheart finished it off quickly.

“Wow!”  exclaimed Cinderpaw. “I  want to do that!” 

“Don’t worry; you’ll have plenty of chances.  For now, let’s get back to the forest,” meowed Greystripe. 

“Aren’t  we going  to catch anything  else?” Cinderpaw protested. 

“Did you hear that vole squeal?” snorted  Fireheart. Cinderpaw nodded. 

“Well,  so did every other creature around here. The prey will be hiding for a while. I should have  caught it before it could make a sound.” Greystripe’s whiskers twitched with amusement.  

“I wasn’t going to say a word,”  he purred. Fireheart picked up the dead vole in his mouth, and together the cats headed down the slope and began to trek onward through the forest. After the open warmth of Sunningrocks,  the woods seemed chilly, even though sunhigh was approaching. Fireheart smelled fresh markers at the  RiverClan border. Beyond them, the ground sloped down to meet the river. A leaf fluttered down toward Brackenpaw. The young cat immediately leaped up and caught it between his paws. He landed, looking pleased with himself. 

“Well done!” called Greystripe. “You’ll  have no trouble with voles!” Brackenpaw looked doubly pleased. 

“Nice  catch, Brackenpaw!”  Cinderpaw snickered. She nudged her brother’s shoulder with her nose before turning to stare down the wooded slope. 

“The river’s quiet today,”  Fireheart mumbled through his mouthful of vole. 

“That’s because it’s frozen,” mewed Cinderpaw excitedly. “I can see it through the  trees!” 

Fireheart dropped the vole.  

“Frozen?  Completely?”  He stared down the wooded slope. The river glittered at the bottom, frosty and still.  

“Can we have a look?” asked Cinderpaw. Without waiting for an answer, she bounded past the scent markers. Fireheart’s excitement turned to panic as he saw the small gray cat disappear into RiverClan territory. He couldn’t call after her—he didn’t want to alert any RiverClan patrols that might be in the area. But he had to get her back. He left the vole where he’d dropped it and tore after her, Greystripe and Brackenpaw close behind him. They caught up with Cinderpaw at the edge of the river. It was almost totally frozen, apart from a narrow channel of dark water that flowed swiftly between two wide fringes of ice. He was about to suggest they leave when he noticed Greystripe’s ears were pricked. 

“Water  vole!” His friend hissed excitedly. Sure enough, a small vole was scampering along the bank of the iced river. Fireheart glanced at  Cinderpaw and Brackenpaw, afraid that they might try their luck at hunting. To his relief, neither apprentice moved. It was Greystripe who dashed onto the ice at hunting speed. 

“Come  back!” Fireheart hissed.  

Too late, he noticed with a horrified whimper. The ice beneath Greystripe’s paws gave a mighty crack and with a startled yowl, Greystripe fell into the water. He paddled madly for a moment before disappearing into the cold, dark depths of the river. Brackenpaw stared in horror and Cinderpaw gave a desperate mew. Fireheart didn’t quiet her. He was rigid with fear, staring into the water after his friend. Was Greystripe trapped underneath?  

The ice felt cold and slippery beneath his paws, impossible to run on. He jumped back onto the bank and tried to follow his friend downriver. Greystripe's paws thrashed helplessly, all potential instincts to swim thwarted by the fierce current.  Thankfully, Fireheart heard a familiar yowl from the opposite bank and stopped. 

Silverstream leaped onto the ice, padded lightly over the frozen sheet and slid into the river ahead of Greystripe. Amazed, Fireheart watched the slender she-cat swim strongly against the current, holding her position in the icy water with confident churning paws. As  Greystripe was swept past, the tabby grabbed a mouthful of his fur between her teeth. But to Fireheart’s horror, Greystripe’s weight pulled both cats under. He started running again, eyes fixed on the river. Where were they? Then a silver-striped head appeared amid the rolling waters, pushing through the waves. Silverstream swam against the current, dragging Greystripe with her.  

Fireheart could hardly believe that such a slim cat could swim, bogged down by his friend's weight. The silver tabby grabbed the ice on Fireheart’s side of the river with her forepaws, neck craning awkwardly as she held Greystripe between her teeth. Slipping and sliding, she hauled herself out of the river. Greystripe hung limply in the water, twisting and turning as the current dragged at his fur, but Silverstream kept a firm grip. 

Fireheart slid down the bank, raced across the ice, and skidded to a halt beside her. Without a word he reached forward and took hold of Greystripe in his teeth. Together the two cats heaved his soaking body out of the water and dragged him to the safety of the riverbank. Fireheart bent over his friend to see if he was breathing. He felt dizzy with relief as he saw Greystripe’s slick gray flank rising and falling. Greystripe coughed and spluttered and spat out a mouthful of river water. Then he lay still. 

Silverstream placed a paw on his flank and nodded cheerfully. 

“He'll be fine as soon as you warm him up.” She chirped. Fireheart nodded, throat thick. He'd forgotten this part of his dreams, and he'd have forgotten Princess if she weren't already so familiar to him. Was he destined to remember only bits and pieces as his life here went on?!

Greystripe coughed some more and groaned, trying to heave himself to his paws. 

“Slowly, wild  cat.” Silverstream purred. “I don't know how you toms like it in ThunderClan, but I never expected to fish you out of the river.” She smirked. Fireheart rolled his eyes. 

“Thanks for that. I wouldn't have been nearly as brave.” 

“Oh, bravery had nothing to do with it, because we both know you have that in spades.  _ I _ know how to swim and  _ you _ don't.”

“Yes, of course.” Fireheart groused. 

“So, why couldn't he drown in his own territory?” 

“Ah, but who would rescue me there?” Greystripe rasped. Fireheart snorted and shared a look with his silver friend. Leave it to Greystripe to flirt when his life was in danger. 

“So, how are things on your side of the river? You finally ask that she-cat to be your mate?” 

“You… how in StarClan-?” Fireheart spluttered. 

“Blackclaw has the exact same look whenever he even thinks about Greenflower. Trust me, I know. So, what'd she say?” 

“She said yes, thank StarClan. I don't know what I would have done if she hadn't.” 

“Ah yes, love is a wonderful thing when it goes right.” The silver tabby purred. 

An apologetic mew interrupted the moment and Fireheart turned to see Cinderpaw crouching by a clump of grass farther up the bank. 

“You're fine, more than. Thank you for making sure we were okay, but where’s  Brackenpaw?” he asked. 

“Just coming,”  answered Cinderpaw, pointing with her nose. Her brother crept nervously along the bank toward them. 

Fireheart stood up. 

“Thanks. I’d have  missed this furball  if he’d drowned.” He nudged Greystripe. His friend hadn’t even shaken the icy water from his fur and he was soaked to the skin. 

“Come on, let’s get back to camp. You’re freezing!” 

“Okay, I’m  coming!” Greystripe meowed. But before he followed Fireheart up the slope, he turned back to the silver she-cat.  

“What’s your name? Mine’s Greystripe.” 

“Silverstream,”  she scoffed, unimpressed, and bounded away. Back onto the ice and over the channel of water to the far side. 

Fireheart and Greystripe led their apprentices through the bracken, toward the border. Fireheart couldn’t help noticing that his friend looked back over his shoulder more than once. Cinderpaw noticed too, because the little gray cat glanced up, mischief dancing in her eyes. 

“What  a pretty RiverClan cat  she was!” Greystripe gave her a playful cuff around the ear and she ran on ahead. 

“Stay with us,” Fireheart warned in a loud hiss. 

They couldn't afford any more mishaps today. He flashed his apprentice an angry look as she stopped and waited for them. He spared a glance for Greystripe. Even though the gray warrior had shaken as much of the water from his fur as he could, his coat was still drenched. Fireheart quickened the pace. 

“Are  you okay?”  He asked, breathing on his friend's muzzle to slow the formation of ice on his whiskers.

“F-f-fine!”  Replied Greystripe, through chattering teeth. 

“Sorry,”  mewed Cinderpaw softly as she fell into step behind Fireheart. He sighed. 

“It’s  not your fault.”  He muttered, worried. How would explain this to the Clan? 

They were lucky enough that Brackenpaw had thought to bring the vole Fireheart had caught, but no way would that be enough. Just as well, Greystripe was soaked through and try as he might, Fireheart couldn't find a way around the truth. 

The ginger tom shuddered as he thought of how close he’d come to losing Greystripe, and right in front of these kits... Thank StarClan that Silverstream had been there to save him. 

“The stream near the training hollow is still running with water,” Brackenpaw meowed thoughtfully.

“What?”  asked Fireheart,  puzzled out of his gloomy thoughts. 

“The  Clan will probably assume that Greystripe fell in there,” continued the young apprentice. 

“We could say he was showing us how to catch fish,”  Cinderpaw added. 

“I’m  not sure  any cat would believe  Greystripe would get his  paws wet on purpose, let alone in  this weather.” Fireheart pointed out. 

“Well,  I don’t want the rest of the  Clan to know I had to be rescued by a RiverClan cat!”  whined Greystripe with a flash of his old spirit.

 Fireheart snorted. 

“Come on,” he meowed. “Let’s  run the rest of the  way; it’ll help Greystripe  warm up.”

As the sun began to dip behind the treetops, they arrived back outside the camp. Greystripe’s fur had dried a little, but frozen droplets hung on his whiskers and tail. Fireheart led the way through the gorse entrance. His heart sank when he saw Tigerclaw sitting in the clearing watching them.

“That can't be all you have!” The deputy snapped. 

“We weren't out very long.” Fireheart hissed. “And even if we were, you can tell that something happened. I'll more than makeup for it tomorrow.”

“And you'll not eat tonight.” The dark tabby growled.

“It was my fault!” Cinderpaw blurted out. 

Tigerclaw turned to face the grey apprentice with narrowed eyes. 

“Explain yourself.” He ordered. 

“I saw a vole beside the river next to the sandy hollow and tried to catch it, but the ice was thin. Greystripe threw me to the bank before I got wet, but he almost drowned when the ice cracked. Fireheart saved him with Brackenpaw's help.” 

Fireheart blinked, surprised. She'd done a spectacular job of sticking close to the truth. 

Tigerclaw nodded and looked at  Greystripe. 

“You’d best get to Yellowfang  before you freeze to death.”

 The  ThunderClan deputy stood up and stalked away. 

Greystripe hurried off without hesitation. The long run home hadn’t stopped his teeth from chattering.

Brackenpaw glanced at Cinderpaw and padded off to his nest, his tail drooping with exhaustion. Fireheart peered at Cinderpaw. 

“Aren’t you even a  bit frightened by Tigerclaw?” he asked curiously. 

“Why should I be?”  replied Cinderpaw. “He’s a great warrior. I admire  him.”

Of course, why wouldn’t she?  Fireheart thought. 

“You'd do well not to spread fables so boldly.” He insisted wisely. “Unless you'd like to get caught in your own trap.”

A brief vision of Squirrelflight and Leafpool at that disaster of a Gathering before Hollyleaf’s disappearance flashed through his mind.

“Well,  I try not to,” mewed Cinderpaw. “I  just thought the truth wouldn’t  be very helpful here.” 

Fireheart had to admit she had a point. He shook his head slowly. 

“Go and get warm. We'll practice proper hunting techniques tomorrow.” 

“Yes, Fireheart!”  Cinderpaw dipped her head and charged after her brother. Fireheart padded over to the warriors’ den. He was worried at how easily the story about Greystripe’s soaking had tumbled from Cinderpaw’s mouth. But he also knew Cinderpelt to be a  well-meaning and honest cat.

Fireheart chose a few pieces of fresh-kill and carried them over to the nettle clump. He settled himself beside it and began to gnaw thoughtfully on a mouse.

The admiration in Cinderpaw’s voice when she had spoken of Tigerclaw worried him. How long would he be able to keep his worst nightmare from the Clan? Bluestar, Sandstorm, Greystripe, and Dustpelt believed him, but what would happen when Goldenflower found out? Or Whitestorm? Would they protect their oldest friend, the cat they'd known their whole lives? It  _ was _ hard to imagine, considering how little inclination he'd shown to his darker intentions, but he worried for the cats that Tigerclaw was closest to. Would he be able to keep them from going as hare-brained as Bluestar had the first time around?

 With a flash of frustration, Fireheart ripped another mouthful from his meal. A loud sneeze made him look up to find that Greystripe was heading toward him. “How are  you?” Fireheart asked as his friend arrived, smelling mostly of thyme and chamomile. 

Greystripe plopped down heavily and coughed. 

“I’ve saved you some food,” Fireheart meowed, pushing a plump thrush toward his friend. 

“Yellowfang says I have to stay in camp.  Apparently, I have a  chill,” Greystripe meowed thickly. 

“I’m  not surprised.” Fireheart snorted. “What’d she  dose you with?” 

“Feverfew  and lavender.”  

Ah, so those were the stranger smelling ones emanating from his friend's pelt.

Greystripe lay down and began to nibble at the thrush. 

“This’ll be enough for me,”  he mumbled. “I’m not  very hungry.” 

Fireheart shot his friend a wary look. Had he swallowed too much water? 

“I hope you're able to finish that off. Eating something might keep your starch from feeling weird.”

Greystripe shrugged him off and continued nibbling at the thrush. Fireheart would check on his friend later. He let his mind wander to his sister and found himself at the entrance to the nursery. Hopefully, she was comfortable here.

 


	12. Eleven

A few days later  Fireheart woke to find the first fog of leaf-bare filling the den. When he crept outside, he could barely see the other side of the clearing. He heard pawsteps hurrying toward him,  and Mousefur appeared out of the gloom. 

“Tigerclaw wants to see you,” she meowed. 

“Thanks,”  answered Fireheart.  Alarm shot through him. What could Tigerclaw want with him?

“What was that?”  Greystripe wheezed from behind him.  He sat down beside Fireheart, sneezed, and yawned. “Tigerclaw wants to see me.” Fireheart looked at his friend. “You should be asleep.” 

He was beginning to worry about Greystripe. He ought to have recovered by now. 

“Did you rest at all yesterday?”  he asked. 

“As much as  I could between coughing and sneezing,” The grey tabby complained. 

“Then why weren’t you in your nest when I got back?” 

“We’re sleeping beside half the Clan. Do you think I get  any peace and quiet in there?” Greystripe flicked his ears back at the den. 

“Warriors trooping in and out all day! I found somewhere better, that’s all.” Fireheart was about to ask where, but Greystripe spoke first.  

“I wonder what Tigerclaw wants?” Fireheart’s paws prickled. 

“I’d better find out.” He could just see the shapes of Tigerclaw and Whitestorm through the mist, sitting below the Highrock. As Fireheart padded over to them, they stopped talking and Tigerclaw turned to him.  

“It’s time Cinderpaw and Brackenpaw were assessed,” he growled. 

“Already?”  Fireheart meowed, surprised . It had only been a pawful of sunrises since they were made apprentices. Not even a half-moon. What could they possibly need to be assessed on?!

“Bluestar wants to see how their training is progressing. Especially with Greystripe being too ill to train Brackenpaw. If he's falling  behind, she needs to know so she can appoint another mentor.” 

Fireheart’s tail twitched with annoyance.  

This part, he remembered just fine. But he couldn't help sticking up for Greystripe. If only because he'd liked spending time with both siblings.

“I’ve been taking Brackenpaw out with Cinderpaw every day,” he insisted. “And they're with their siblings half the time. Sandstorm and Dustpelt agreed to a training session tomorrow.”

Tigerclaw glanced at Whitestorm and nodded. 

“As… impressive as that is, this is your first time as a mentor. It’s a lot for you to take on, and ThunderClan needs well-trained warriors.” 

_ Yes, yes we all know you despise kittypets _ . Fireheart thought bitterly. He'd like to think that he’d been putting in a lot of effort with both apprentices. Tigerclaw went on. 

“Send Brackenpaw and Cinderpaw on a hunting mission through Tallpines, as far as Twolegplace. Keep an eye on them, watch them hunt, and report to me. I’ll be interested to see how much fresh-kill they add to the pile.” 

“If Cinderpaw’s skills match her enthusiasm, there should be plenty to eat tonight. I hear she is a keen apprentice.” Whitestorm snorted, amused.

“She is,” Fireheart agreed hesitantly. It wasn't a bad thing yet, but sometimes she was a bit  _ too _ eager. But then… why did Tigerclaw want them to go toward Twolegplace? Surely he didn't expect Fireheart to bring anyone else from his old life into the forest?

He sat up  straight and stared at Tigerclaw, looking for any signs of suspicion before calmly suggesting, 

“Sunningrocks would be an equally good place to test their skills. The sun there might have burned away some of this mist, too.” 

“No,” growled Tigerclaw. “The dawn patrol reported scenting  RiverClan at Sunningrocks. They may have started hunting there again.”  

For the love of the Stars, he was going to strangle Greystripe!

Anger flared in Tigerclaw's eyes, and his lip curled to reveal sharp teeth. 

“They need to be warned off before we do any more training there. Tallpines is the safest place for the assessment.” 

Whitestorm nodded in agreement while Fireheart’s ears twitched uncomfortably at this news. 

“As for the fog,” Tigerclaw continued smoothly, “hunting in difficult conditions will make the test more… interesting.” 

“Yes, Tigerclaw,”  meowed Fireheart, nodding respectfully to the two warriors. 

“We’ll  get started right  away.”  When Fireheart explained the assessment to the apprentices, Cinderpaw flicked up her tail and ran in an excited circle. 

“An assessment!  Do you think we’re  ready?”

“Of course,”  Fireheart meowed, hiding his doubts. “You’ve been  working hard and learning quickly.” 

“But won’t the fog make hunting difficult?” asked Brackenpaw.

Fireheart purred, glad that the golden brown apprentice had thought to ask that.

“There  are advantages  to the stillness  of the air.” He replied.

Brackenpaw  looked thoughtful,  then his eyes began to shine.

“It’ll  be harder  to sniff out prey,” he offered. “but it’ll also make it harder for the prey to smell us.” 

“Exactly,”  Fireheart agreed. 

“Can  we go  now?” Cinderpaw asked. “As soon as you like,” answered Fireheart.  “But take your time; it’s not a  race….” 

Of course, his words were wasted on Cinderpaw, who was already charging toward the camp entrance.  

“You’ve got till sunset!”  he called after her. Brackenpaw glanced at Fireheart and turned to follow his sister with a small sigh. 

Dustpelt padded over, and the pair shared an amused glance. 

“Thornpaw and Brightpaw are being assessed later on, past sun-high.”

“Good luck with that.” Fireheart scoffed. “We barely focused on hunting techniques because Cinderpaw was all about chasing her prey to death and Brackenpaw was working on the perfect crouch. This'll be their first time putting their skills into practice.” 

“You and Greystripe should train them with Brightpaw and Thornpaw more often. They might be able to cover each other's weak spots.”

_ I would if Greystripe were here…  _

Fireheart wasn't too keen on telling them this part of the story tonight. It ended disastrously, and he could only pray to StarClan that things would turn out for the better. If he ever remembered them anymore. 

“I'll take you guys up on that later, but I should get going.”

Dustpelt wished him a good hunt and the apprentices a fair assessment before the ginger tom padded out of camp.  Fireheart tracked the two apprentices through Tallpines. The springy layer of pine needles underpaw felt strangely soft after the frozen ground in the rest of the forest. He followed Cinderpaw’s trail until he could see her stalking eagerly through the forest. Then he picked up Brackenpaw’s scent and followed that. The trails crossed every now and then, and Fireheart could smell where the apprentices had run fast, sat down, even where they had lingered together at one point. Before long Fireheart found a spot where Cinderpaw made a kill. She had taken it with her—as he followed her trail, he could smell the scent of her catch mingling with her own. 

Then he discovered where Brackenpaw caught a thrush. Feathers were scattered everywhere. The apprentices were hunting well, he mused, for their first time catching prey.

Fireheart knew this for sure when he detected a scent thick with fresh-kill.  He dug down among the needles at the roots of a pine tree. There was a stash of prey hidden underneath it, left by Cinderpaw to pick up later. Fireheart felt a small glow of pride at her work. She had caught plenty, and now she was heading for the oak woods behind the Twolegplace. Fireheart followed. Just beyond the edge of the pine forest, he picked up Brackenpaw’s scent. It was strong, which meant the apprentice was nearby. Fireheart crept forward and peered around a young oak. The apprentice crouched beneath a  tangle of brambles, well-disguised among its shadows. Fireheart could just see his tail moving as it twitched from side to side. Brackenpaw’s steady gaze was fixed on a wood mouse that scrambled around the roots of a tree. The golden-brown apprentice didn't seem to be in much of a rush. 

_ Good _ , thought  Fireheart. He watched Brackenpaw draw himself forward, one step at a time. The leaves beneath his paws hardly made a  sound. He was as quiet as the mouse itself, which, suspected nothing as it continued to hunt for food. Fireheart watched breathlessly, remembering his first hunting mission. Brackenpaw closed in. The soft rustle of his paws on leaves melted into the background sounds of the forest. Fireheart found himself willing the apprentice on. Brackenpaw was only a rabbit length away from the mouse now, his body pressed flat against the forest floor. The mouse scampered onto a root and looked around. It froze. Something was wrong. 

_ Now _ !  thought  Fireheart.  

Brackenpaw sprang and landed on the mouse,  grasping it in his front paws. The mouse didn’t have time to struggle. It was over in a single bite. Brackenpaw raised his head. Fireheart saw the satisfied expression on the young cat’s face as he breathed the scent of his fresh-kill.  Then Brackenpaw darted away between the trees. Fireheart radiated pride. There was no way Tigerclaw could say anything against how slowly their training went when it produced such wonderful results! 

“Hi!”  The small voice behind him would have made Fireheart jolt had he not scented his apprentice.  Cinderpaw was surprisingly stealthy for being such an unusually loud cat. 

“Hello,” He purred, amused.

“How we doing?”  asked Cinderpaw, looking up at him with her head to one side. 

“I can't tell you yet.” He chuckled quietly. “You’re not supposed to speak to me at all. I’m assessing  you, remember?” 

“Oh!” His apprentice meowed embarrassedly. “Sorry.” 

Fireheart snorted. He would never have dared to approach Tigerclaw during his assessment.  

Cinderpaw glared at the ground for a moment, then glanced up at him, a puzzled expression on her face. 

“Were  you really born over there, in  Twolegplace?” 

The question caught  Fireheart off guard. “Aren't you supposed to be off hunting?” He asked, slightly ruffled.

“You never said we couldn't stop to rest.” She chirped quietly, barely disturbing the forest. She was learning rather well, all things considered. 

“Why d’you ask?”  he wondered.

“Tigerclaw mentioned it, is all,” answered Cinderpaw. She seemed genuinely curious, but Fireheart felt a dark flash of menace at the mention of the deputy. 

Why was he even talking to the younger she-cat? What else had he been telling her? 

“I  _ was _ born a kittypet,”  Fireheart offered. “But Bluestar gave me a one-time chance, and my life is with the Clan now.” 

“Oh, okay,” meowed Cinderpaw,  unconcerned. 

“See  you later!” She spun around and charged off into the trees. Fireheart snorted and picked up the trail after a few heartbeats for a head start. Cinderpaw could be a warrior yet.


	13. Twelve

As the sun sank into the forest,  Fireheart waited beside the pine tree where Cinderpaw had buried her first lot of fresh-kill.  He heard pawsteps and turned to see Cinderpaw and Brackenpaw padding toward him, the last of their prey dangling from their mouths. Brackenpaw could barely hold his catch, it was so big, and Fireheart felt a surge of pride.

“I’ll help carry this back,” Fireheart offered, flicking away the covering of pine needles from Cinderpaw’s stash. He dug it up, grasped the fresh-kill between his teeth, and set off back to the camp. 

 

When they arrived in the camp clearing, some of the Clan were already taking their share of fresh-kill from the pile.  Tigerclaw must have been looking out for their return, because  he padded over to them as they dropped their catch near the rest.   


“They caught all this themselves?” he asked, nudging the pile with a massive paw. 

“Absolutely,”  Fireheart replied. 

“Good,”  meowed Tigerclaw.  “Come join me with Bluestar, and bring some fresh-kill for yourself; we’re already eating.” Cinderpaw and Brackenpaw looked at Fireheart with admiring stares—it was a privilege to eat with the Clan leader and deputy. Fireheart almost shared their excitement, but the last cat he wanted to share his meal with was Tigerclaw. 

“By the way, have you seen Greystripe?”  asked Tigerclaw. Fireheart  felt a pang of concern as Tigerclaw continued: 

“He’s  supposed  to stay in  camp while he  has this cold, but  I haven’t seen him since  sunhigh.” 

Fireheart shifted his paws. Had Greystripe gone off looking for Silverstream again?

“No,” The ginger tom admitted. “Perhaps  he’s with Yellowfang?” 

“Perhaps,”  echoed Tigerclaw dubiously,  before padding away to where Bluestar gnawed a fat pigeon. 

Fireheart followed, trying to push away his growing anger about  Greystripe’s disappearances. He selected a small chaffinch from the pile of fresh-kill as he passed, then wished he’d chosen a vole. How was he going to give his report with a mouthful of feathers?

“Welcome, Fireheart,”  meowed Bluestar as he sat down in front of her. He placed the chaffinch on the ground but decided not to start eating. “Tigerclaw tells me your apprentices caught plenty  of prey.”   


Bluestar’s gaze was friendly. Tigerclaw glared at him more critically, making Fireheart’s tail twitch with annoyance.

“Yes. They’ve never hunted in the mist before, but it didn’t seem to put either of them off,” Fireheart meowed. “Brackenpaw caught a wood mouse among other things, and his  stalking was  _ excellent _ .” 

“And what about Cinderpaw?”  asked Bluestar. Fireheart noticed a steely glint appear in her eyes. 

He'd been keeping her up to date on his dreams as well, and she often sat in on his nightly meetings with his denmates. Was she thinking about the Cinderpaw’s potential future?

“Her hunting skills are developing well.  She has lots of enthusiasm,  that’s for sure, and unfortunately for me, doesn’t  seem to be scared of anything.” Fireheart scoffed fondly.

“Sounds a fair amount like a few apprentices I knew once.” She purred, eyes gleaming mischievously. 

“But aren’t you worried that’ll make her reckless?”  asked Tigerclaw. 

“She’s quick to learn and extremely inquisitive. She'll follow any orders you give her, which should more than make up for a bit of excitement.”

 Bluestar flicked her tail.  

“Her… excitement is more than a bit and it worries me,” She admitted, flashing a glance at Tigerclaw.  “Cinderpaw will need careful guidance in her training.”  

Fireheart’s spirits plummeted.  Was Bluestar unhappy with his mentoring? Bluestar’s eyes softened.   


“She was always going to be a challenge. But she is clearly turning into a fine hunter. You have done good work with her, Fireheart. With both of them, in fact.”   


Fireheart brightened immediately  and Bluestar went on. 

“I admire how you’ve taken over Brackenpaw’s training and I’d like for you to carry on mentoring them both for the time being. They seem to thrive under your guidance.”

_ It's too early to tell _ , he wanted to say. But he kept quiet. 

Tigerclaw turned his gaze away, but  Fireheart didn’t miss the anger that flashed in his eyes. 

“Thank you, Bluestar,”  he purred, too proud to bother with the deputy's sour mood. 

“I  see your missing friend has returned,”  Tigerclaw growled without turning his head. Fireheart whipped around to see  Greystripe appearing from behind the nursery. 

Fireheart sighed.

“He was probably just getting some peace,” he offered, annoyed. “He’s still feverish,  and it can’t be easy being stuck in camp all  day.” 

“ _ Easy _ or not, he should be focused on getting better.” Tigerclaw hissed coldly.  “Leaf-bare is no time for sickness in the camp. Mousefur was coughing on patrol this morning, so here's hoping StarClan protects us from greencough this season. We lost five kits to  it last leaf-bare.”

Fireheart blinked, shocked. He hadn't known that and if anything, he was surprised at how solemn Tigerclaw looked. Had Goldenflower been affected? 

 Bluestar nodded grimly. 

“Let’s pray this leaf-bare isn’t as long or hard. It’s  never an easy time for the Clans.”  She looked wistful for a moment, then  told Fireheart,

“Take that chaffinch and share it with Greystripe. He’ll want to know how his apprentice did in the  assessment.” 

“Yes, Bluestar. Thank you,” Fireheart meowed gratefully.  He picked up the chaffinch and bounded over to the nettle clump where  Greystripe had settled himself with Brackenpaw's wood mouse. Greystripe had eaten half of it by the time Fireheart arrived, so perhaps his cold was actually on the mend. 

As Fireheart dropped the chaffinch beside his friend, Greystripe let out a frame-wracking sneeze. On second thought… 

“Cold no better?” Fireheart prompted. 

“Nope,”  groused Greystripe  with his mouth full.  “I guess I’ll have to  stay in camp awhile longer.” 

“Brackenpaw  did really well  in his assessment  today,” he meowed. 

“Really?”  Greystripe perked up, taking another bite of the mouse. “That’s  good.” “He’s a great hunter.” Fireheart offered, starting to eat his chaffinch.

_ I bet you don't even know that he caught that, you self-centered mouse-heart! _ “Greystripe,”  he began after a  long silence. “Have you been  out of the camp the past few  days?” 

His friend  stopped chewing.  

“Why do you ask?” 

Yep, definitely doing  _ something _ . Hopefully not with Silverstream. 

Fireheart’s  tail twitched  uncomfortably. “Well,  you weren’t here when  I got in from last night’s  patrol, and Tigerclaw said he hadn’t  seen you since sunhigh today.” 

“Tigerclaw?”  Greystripe sounded worried.

“I covered for you,” Fireheart sneered. He  took another bite of chaffinch. “but I deserve to know what you're doing.”

“Well,  thanks.”  He carried on chewing. Fireheart  didn’t ask any more questions. There was no need to stir up trouble yet.  When Greystripe got to his paws and announced he was going to the den, the ginger tom  scoffed. Way to avoid confrontation. The ginger tom figured that his grey friend wouldn't be around for the next few Dream Meetings either. 

“Okay,”  he meowed. “I  think I’ll stay  here a bit longer.” 

Greystripe  gave him a  brief nod and padded away. Fireheart  rolled onto his back for a long stretch, scratching  the ground above his head with his claws. He lay on his  back for a while, thinking. From the smell of him, Greystripe  had given himself a good wash very recently. Was he trying to hide  some scent? Fireheart realized that Greystripe had pretty much admitted he  had left the camp. He knew that he'd have to track down Silverstream at some point. They couldn't carry on like this.  

Fireheart  flipped over and sat  up. There was something  caught under one of his claws.  He lifted his paw and tugged out  the piece of dirt with his teeth. It  was a catkin, old and shriveled, but definitely  a catkin. Willow trees didn’t grow in ThunderClan’s  part of the forest—in fact, the only willows Fireheart had ever  seen grew close to the river, in RiverClan territory. Fireheart sighed and looked to the warrior's den. He'd have to tell Sandstorm and Dustpelt about Greystripe now, it seemed, and he'd have to talk to Silverstream as soon as possible.

  
  
  


When  Fireheart  awoke the den  felt damp and chilled.  One sniff of the air told  him rain was on the way. He pushed his  way outside, yawning. He hadn’t slept well,  worrying about future events. Even now, the thought of his  friend in RiverClan territory sent a shiver through him. 

“Chilly, eh?”  Runningwind’s voice  startled Fireheart. Fireheart  looked over his shoulder, his tail twitching.  The lean tabby warrior was padding out of the  den.

“Not the best weather to wake up to,” Fireheart  agreed. “But we've had worse.” He recalled, shivering at the thought of the rain that had caught them off guard leaving WindClan territory. Strong winds like those mixed with rain were conditions that he never wanted to be in again. The brown tabby nodded sympathetically, likely remembering the same events.

“Here's hoping you haven't caught Greystripe's cold. Mousefur’s  streaming with it this morning, and Longtail said Swiftpaw sneezed all  through training yesterday.” 

Fireheart  shook his head. 

“I’m  fine. Just  tired after yesterday’s  assessment.” 

“Ah,” Runningwind mused. “What Bluestar said makes more sense now. She  asked me to help you with Cinderpaw and Brackenpaw’s training today. Is  that okay with you?” 

“Yeah, thanks,”  Fireheart meowed, astonished. As much as Fireheart considered Runningwind a good friend and something of a confidant, he hadn't expected to be given a choice. 

“Right, then,”  Runningwind decided. “I’ll  meet you in the hollow after I’ve  eaten. If Swiftpaw’s coming down with a  cold, we should have the place to ourselves. Are  you hungry?”  

Fireheart dipped his head and trotted after Runningwind to pick  through the leftovers from last night’s fresh-kill.

“Good morning, Fireheart. I heard your apprentices did well yesterday.” 

Princess had agreed to be renamed, and was now called Nutleaf. The brown she-cat had actually asked for the first part of her name to be in honor of their mother, Nutmeg. Fireheart nodded as he picked up a shrew. 

“It was their first time on a major hunting mission and they did brilliantly!” He crowed. “Their styles of hunting suit them well so far. How have you been settling in?” 

“This place is everything I've ever dreamed of! The other nursing mothers are very nice. They didn't even ask who the father of my kits was, and that's a question I got rather often before. They're dead-set on making sure that I'm as comfortable as I can be, but I can't wait to be out in the forest one day. I'd like to learn to hunt, even if I don't like the idea of fighting all that much. I told Brindleface and she said that when I have my kits we could go on a hunting patrol with Goldenflower, Frostfur and Speckletail, if she wants to come.” 

Nutleaf visibly deflated, and Fireheart blinked sympathetically. 

“Is Speckletail alright?” He murmured, concerned. He knew that she was the oldest nursery queen, and that she'd eventually lose the surviving kit of her last litter to a hawk. He wanted to prevent that, if only to give the white tom the same chances that Cloudtail got. The chances every cat deserved. But it seems like, as with Whitestorm, there's more to Speckletail than he knew in his former life, and whatever changed is affecting her differently . Or… maybe he was too foolish to notice, to wrapped up in his own issues to notice what had been right in front of him all along-.

A paw prodded at his side and his head snapped up. 

“I see what Willowpelt and Goldenflower mean about you being lost in thought. Does that happen often? I remember you'd doze off sometimes when we were playing with the others, but then we realized you'd been going out with your friends when you weren't supposed to, so that made sense.” 

“Cheeky welp!” He hissed playfully, swatting at her with a sheathed paw. “But go on about Speckletail. Has she been acting strange?”

I don't know what strange is for these cats yet, but I don't think Speckletail is okay. She seems rather downhearted.”

Fireheart hummed in agreement. Losing kits could do that to you.. but that hasn't happened yet. He shook himself out and raised his gaze to meet Nutleaf's. 

“You should get one of the other queens alone and see what they have to say about it. She could always have been that way or it could be something that only happens to certain queens after they have kits. I wouldn't know, of course, but it's a start.” Fireheart offered. 

“That's a good idea!” Nutleaf purred, dipping her head in thanks before bolting back for the nursery. 

Fireheart glanced down to find that they'd both finished their meals as they talked. He snorted. Maybe  _ he _ was losing his mind instead of Bluestar. 

Fireheart  went to the  training hollow  to find that the others had just arrived. If the truth was told, he wouldn't be all that helpful this training session;  he was almost sure that Greystripe would slip out of camp today, and Fireheart had to know if he was going to see Silverstream. 

A rain-laden  wind was beginning  to sway the leafless  branches above the hollow.

“What  are we  doing today?”  asked Cinderpaw, scampering over to him.  Fireheart stared at her blankly. He hadn’t  thought about that  _ at  all _ , too wrapped up in Greystripe's rule-breaking and Nutleaf’s news about Speckletail. 

“Hunting?”  Brackenpaw mewed hopefully  as he trotted after Cinderpaw. Runningwind padded across  the hollow and joined them. 

“How  about practicing  some stalking techniques?”  he suggested. 

“Good idea,”  Fireheart agreed  quickly. 

“Not  the old ‘rabbit  hears you, the mouse feels  you’ lesson again!” Cinderpaw  moaned. Runningwind silenced her with  a look and turned to Fireheart. Fireheart  realized with a jump that Runningwind was  waiting for him to start.  

“Well, there'd be no point to teaching  _ you _ the same thing since clearly, you've already mastered everything, O Wise Cinderpaw!” He scoffed. “But since you've never caught, say, a bird or a rabbit, I'll start with those.” 

He  dropped into  a crouch and began to  move forward, fast and light, until  he reached the end of the hollow.

“What's that for?” Brackenpaw asked. 

“A bird.” Runningwind offered. “How about you try it and we'll see how you StarClan-blessed apprentices measure up.” He snorted. Cinderpaw dropped into the crouch immediately and scampered off, while Brackenpaw took his time before doing the same, taking note of Fireheart's corrections of Cinderpaw as they went along.

As the apprentices darted around the hollow, having turned their stalking techniques into a pouncing game, Runningwind turned to Fireheart. 

“You didn't look all that great when you were doing that crouch. Did you eat something bad?” 

Huh. He hadn't noticed anything off with the shrew, but now that Runningwind mentioned it… 

Air forced it's way up to his throat and he felt like he was gagging on a hairball, something most cats manage adulthood without going through. A giant noise ripped it's way from his muzzle, startling the apprentices. Runningwind laughed at the looks on their faces as they raced over to him. 

“That was quite the wind, my friend. Maybe you should go see Yellowfang about that.” 

“I feel a bit better, but not by much. Maybe the shrew ate something weird and it's getting to me?” 

“Maybe, but seriously, go see Yellowfang. I can keep your apprentices busy for the day.” 

“Thanks, Runningwind.” 

Fireheart dipped his head to the brown tabby and bolted out of the hollow.   


Now, he had no idea what he wanted to do. Originally, he was just going to see if he could get away to find Greystripe, but now it seemed like there was actually something wrong with him! If he saw Yellowfang, there was no chance of him finding Greystripe in time, but if he didn't and something else happened to him… decisions, decisions… 

  
  


He sat inside Yellowfang's den, munching on some juniper berries. They tasted pretty good, for herbs, and like catmint, he could see himself snacking on these as easily as he would a mouse before sleep. 

Not a good idea, though. He'd heard from Halftail that too many juniper berries could mess up your insides. Yellowfang gave him just enough to work with whatever was bothering his stomach, but not to overload it. 

“You might have to make dirt more than usual, but come back if you feel any worse or start to gag.” 

“Thanks, Yellowfang.” With that finished, he padded out of camp. Maybe he could still catch Greystripe. 

 

Fireheart  padded around the  outside of the camp and sniffed at  the wall of bracken. His heart sank as  he picked up Greystripe’s scent. Greystripe  had definitely been sneaking out of the camp this  way. Often, by the smell of it. At least the scent was  stale, which meant he hadn’t been this way today.

He probably took another path.

Fireheart  crouched behind a  nearby tree and settled  down to wait. The wood was  growing darker as rain clouds  began to push across the sky. The  shadows hid him perfectly, and he made  sure he was downwind so Greystripe wouldn’t  detect him. His belly really was aching now, tense  with guilt and apprehension. He half hoped Greystripe wouldn’t  come, half hoped he would just lead him to some quiet spot within  ThunderClan’s borders. Fireheart’s heart lurched as he heard a rustling  in the bracken wall. A pink nose was pushing its way through the fronds. Fireheart  ducked his head as Greystripe looked around cautiously. After a few moments, the warrior leaped  out and set off at a trot toward the training hollow. Hope flared in Fireheart’s chest. Perhaps  Greystripe’s cold was better and he’d decided to join the training session. He set off after him, keeping  a safe distance behind, relying on scent rather than sight to track his friend. But when the trail veered  away from the path that led to the training hollow, Fireheart knew that his hope had been in vain. With an  ominous sense of dread, he saw the distinctive gray rock loom ahead through the trees: Sunningrocks. Fireheart pricked his  ears and opened his mouth, testing the breeze for the smell of enemy cats. At the edge of the trees, he caught a glimpse  of a broad-shouldered gray cat slipping past the rocks, toward the RiverClan border. There was no doubt now where Greystripe was  heading. As soon as his friend was out of sight, Fireheart padded forward and peered down the slope to the river. By the swaying of the  undergrowth, Fireheart could guess where Greystripe was. He just hoped there weren’t any RiverClan warriors watching too. Fireheart made his  way down through the fronds. The river wasn’t frozen anymore—he could hear the water lapping at the bank and splashing over the boulders. He slowed  his pace as he reached the edge of the bracken and peered out at the open shore. Greystripe was sitting on the pebbles. Silverstream had barely shaken the drops  from her fur as she wound herself around Greystripe. For once the long-furred didn’t seem to mind getting wet at all, because he purred loud enough for Fireheart to  hear as Silverstream pressed her damp pelt against his. 

Fireheart sighed. They'd been here for a while, judging by how comfortable they were. 

“You can't possibly think this is a good idea!” He called out to them, feeling a bit bad about ruining their moment. He and Sandstorm were so busy that  _ they _ barely had a moment together, and they were warriors in the same Clan! 

Fireheart shook himself out and padded over to them. 

“You followed me?!” Greystripe snarled belligerently. 

“And it was too easy.” The ginger tom scoffed. “I imagine Whitestorm could be here in seconds if he followed the same trail. If you're going to trample the warrior code with such acts of mouse-brainedness, at least give us all the dignity of hiding your scent!” Fireheart hissed. “But then, why should I help either of you when you're breaking the rules?” 

“Love knows no rules, Fireheart. You of all cats should know that.” Silverstream spat. 

“Why, because you had to talk me into telling Sandstorm how I felt? You know nothing about true love, and while I'm glad you have this… experience, it can't go on for much longer.” 

“And just why not?!” The silver she-cat growled hotly. 

“Because, Silverstream, RiverClan is hunting on ThunderClan territory and ThunderClan doesn't really like that. What happens when you two meet in battle? You'll have to choose between fighting someone you have feelings for and going against the cats you grew up with. Can you go against Greenflower or Crookedstar, Silverstream? How would Willowpelt feel about her youngest out here with an enemy?” 

“She'd be happy that I found someone to love me!” Greystripe snapped. “Like you should be!” 

“Right… whatever. I told myself long ago that I wouldn't get involved but here I am.” Fireheart groused. 

Greystripe narrowed his eyes. 

“You don't seem very surprised.” He muttered suspiciously. “What happens to us?” 

“What?” Silverstream meowed, confused. 

“He has dreams of cats like us in another time. I want to know what happens to our counterparts.” 

“Now, why would I tell you that?” Fireheart snorted darkly before padding off. Out the corner of his eye, he saw Greystripe press himself against Silverstream before racing after him. 

The grey tom caught up to them when they were close to camp. 

“What happens to us?” He demanded. 

“Nothing worth worrying about.” Fireheart snorted. “There's no point in stopping you two, mouse-brained as this all is.” 

Greystripe snarled and made to speak again, but Fireheart shook his head. 

“I'm going to see Yellowfang. I had some gas earlier and it feels like there's more.” 

The ginger tom pushed past his grey friend and stormed for the medicine den. 

“More gas?” Yellowfang asked. 

“It's gone down since I went for a walk. I just wanted to see what was going here.” 

Yellowfang  was busy mixing  herbs. There were  several heaps of leaves  gathered in front of her. Fireheart  stood and watched her for a moment without  speaking. He felt drained after confronting Greystripe. Yellowfang  glanced up at him.  

“My supplies  are running low.  I might need help to  restock.”

He dipped his head. 

“I'd be glad to.” He murmured. He wondered if she'd have an apprentice soon, if Nutleaf wouldn't mind doing this all the time. She seemed excited about learning to heal, and he was glad for her. He just hoped it was all she thought it'd be. 

The healer interrupted  his thoughts. 

“It  looks  like there’s  whitecough in the  camp,” she growled, prodding  impatiently at a dried leaf. “Two cases  this morning.” 

“Swiftpaw?”  asked Fireheart. The  old medicine cat shook her head. 

“Swiftpaw’s  just got a cold. It’s  Speckletail’s kit. And Patchpelt. Not  serious at the moment, but we need to  concentrate on getting the Clan strong. Leaf-bare  always brings the threat of greencough.” Fireheart understood her concern. Greencough was  a killer. 

The  medicine  cat went back  to her mixing. Fireheart  turned to leave, but Yellowfang  called him back. 

“Make  sure Greystripe  stays in his den,  will you? He’s a strong  young warrior. If he were resting,  his cough would be better by now.” Fireheart’s  tail twitched nervously. 

Had she  guessed that  Greystripe had been  slipping out of the camp? 

He  waited, his  heart thudding, in  case she was going  to say more, but Yellowfang  was frowning at the herbs again, so  he padded quietly away. 

  
  


It  was getting  dark, and Fireheart  knew he had only a short  time left for hunting. He quickly  caught a shrew, a chaffinch, and a mouse,  but hesitated before returning to camp. His  fears for Greystripe felt more important than  anything another cat might say if he didn’t add  something to the fresh-kill pile in time. Fireheart  came to a decision—if Greystripe wouldn’t listen to reason, maybe  Silverstream would. He stashed his catch beneath a tree root and covered it  with leaves. For the second time that day, he turned toward Sunningrocks. The  rain that had been threatening all day finally began to fall. It was drumming steadily  on the bracken by the time Fireheart crept down the shadowy slope toward the river. Even in  the rain, Silverstream’s scent was easy to find. Fireheart followed the trail to the place where  he had found Greystripe and Silverstream together. Hyper-alert, he padded onto the shore. The dark water rushed  past relentlessly, sending a shiver down Fireheart’s spine. He had no desire to swim across. His fur did not  have the oily protection from the water that that of the RiverClan cats had, and leaf-bare was no season to get a soaking. 

The fresh scent of RiverClan warriors had him praising StarClan for everything he could think of.

He  dropped to  a crouch and looked across  the river to see Silverstream  pushing her way through the trailing  branches of a willow. Behind her came  two of her Clan, one of them a warrior  with massive shoulders and battle-torn ears. The  warrior sniffed the air suspiciously and peered around. 

“Greetings.” He meowed calmly. Silverstream dipped her head, surprised. 

“Greetings, Fireheart. These are Stonefur and Shadepaw. We're the evening patrol.”

“I guessed.” He offered. “I've actually been hoping to run into someone from RiverClan. Some of our warriors have noticed strange scents past the border, and I'd like to know if it's something that can be handled with words before claws.” 

“Our border ends where we stand.” Stonefur insisted. “Any cat caught past the river would be a fool, and RiverClan does not take fools lightly. I'll admit that we are searching for woodland prey on our own borders. The Twolegs saw fit to cause more trouble than usual this past greenleaf.” 

Fireheart dipped his head. He could see how desperation would drive a Clan past its borders. 

“Thank you for your honesty. Bluestar prefers having a good reason before launching an attack.” 

“Indeed, Crookedstar and Oakheart knew her to be quite levelheaded.”

Oakheart… he completely forgot about the red tom who'd been crushed to death. Fireheart nodded again and wished them well on their way. 

  
  
  


“Yellowfang  hasn’t taken  any fresh-kill yet.”  Whitestorm’s meow sounded from the shadows. Fireheart had padded into camp, checked to make sure that Greystripe was where he belonged, and grabbed something from the fresh-kill pile.

“She’s been  too busy.” The solemn white warrior offered, concerned. “I think she  would appreciate that mouse you’re carrying.” 

Fireheart  nodded and backed out again. If Yellowfang was too busy to fetch food then the sickness in the camp was getting worse. Fireheart raced across the  clearing, stopping only to pick up another mouse before hurrying through the fern tunnel. 

A tabby kit lay in a nest of moss in the bracken at the edge of the clearing. Yellowfang crouched beside it, trying to persuade it  to eat some herbs. The kit snuffled pitifully, blinking up at her with streaming eyes and nose. Fireheart realized  this must be Speckletail's litter. Yellowfang turned when she heard Fireheart arrive. 

“Is  that for me?”  she meowed, looking  at the mice hanging from  Fireheart’s mouth. He nodded and dropped them  on the ground. 

“Thanks. Now  that you’re here, why don’t  you see if you can persuade this  kit to take his medicine?”  

She padded over to the mice, moving stiffly from her old shoulder injury, and began to gnaw on one hungrily. Fireheart approached the kit.  It looked up at him, opening its tiny mouth in a rasping,  painful cough. Fireheart gently pushed a small green herb toward it. 

“If you want  to be a warrior, you’ll  have to get used to swallowing  these.” He began gently. “When you make  your trip to the Moonstone, you have to  eat herbs far worse than this. They give you the strength of ten cats, and you'll be able to stay out all day once you feel better.” 

The kit looked wonderingly at him through half-closed eyes before he reached forward and took a  tentative mouthful. Fireheart gave it an encouraging purr. 

Yellowfang appeared at his side. 

“Well done,” she rasped a purr. She gestured with her nose, and Fireheart nodded understandingly. She needed to speak with him alone. 

He followed her to the shelter of the tall rock where she slept. The rain was still falling,  and Yellowfang’s matted gray fur was soaked, her sodden tail dragging in the dirt. 

“Bluestar has whitecough,” The healer announced gravely. 

“Whitecough… that's not the one we need catmint for, is it?” 

Yellowfang shook her head. 

“Normally we wouldn't, but  it came on very quickly and it’s  affected her badly.” Fireheart’s stomach tightened as he recalled the dwindling number of lives left to the  Clan leader. 

“I warned her to stay away from the other sick cats, but she wanted to see them,”  Yellowfang went on. “She’s sleeping in her den at the moment. Frostfur is  with her.” 

The fear in  Yellowfang’s  eyes made Fireheart  wonder if she knew the truth about Bluestar’s lives. The rest of the Clan thought she had three  lives left, but perhaps a medicine cat could sense these things instinctively. The truth was, if Bluestar  lost this life, she would have only one more left.

 


	14. Thirteen

The rain continued through the night and into the next morning but the clouds began to clear around sunhigh. A somber air hung over the clearing as the Clan waited for news of their leader. Fireheart crept out from the patch of brambles by the boundary wall, where he’d sheltered since dawn. He padded over to Bluestar’s den in the side of Highrock. There was no sound from inside. As he turned away, he ran into Willowpelt carrying food to the nursery. She tipped her head questioningly to one side. Fireheart knew she was hoping for news of Bluestar. 

“Nothing to report, I’m afraid.” He offered. 

Fireheart had given Cinderpaw and Brackenpaw a day’s rest from training. He could see them now, lounging outside their den, looking bored. Fireheart knew he had let them down, but he wanted to stay in camp while Bluestar was sick. At least Tigerclaw wasn’t here to criticize his decision. The great deputy had taken out the dawn patrol. Suddenly the lichen at Bluestar’s den twitched and Frostfur burst through. She raced across the clearing to Yellowfang’s den and reappeared within moments with the medicine cat behind her. Fireheart bounded over to Bluestar’s den just as Frostfur and Yellowfang pushed through the hanging lichen. He stopped outside and sat down, his heart racing. Frostfur peered out. 

“What’s wrong?” Fireheart asked, his voice trembling. Frostfur closed her eyes. 

“She has green-cough,” she told him bleakly. 

“Stand watch and make sure no one comes inside.” She ducked back inside. Fireheart sat motionless as dread flooded through him. Green-cough! Bluestar really was in danger of losing another life…. 

A sharp yowl outside the camp made him turn and look toward the gorse tunnel. Dustpelt exploded into the clearing and skidded to a halt beside Fireheart. 

“I’ve come from Tigerclaw,” he hissed lowly. “I have a message for Bluestar.” 

“She’s sick,” Fireheart replied. 

“Alright, then I'll get someone else. But Fireheart… he was rather specific that it be Bluestar who come to the Thunderpath. Apparently ShadowClan has overstepped their bounds. Is there anything strange about this to you?” 

“Make sure all the apprentices stay in camp.” He insisted. “Have Sandstorm keep them close if you must, and guard Bluestar in my place. If this is what I think it is, then these instructions should make a difference.” 

“Alright. Whatever happens, be careful. Hopefully, StarClan will keep you in mind.” 

“I hope so too. Send someone if there's any news of Bluestar.” 

* * *

Fireheart dashed out of camp like his life depended on it; which, if this was the trap that Tigerclaw had set for Bluestar, then it certainly would.

He made it to the Thunderpath right when a series of monsters passed through the otherwise quiet forest, and there was no sign of Tigerclaw. 

“Fireheart!” 

Nutleaf! What was his sister doing here?! 

“Dustpelt was going to send someone else, but Yellowfang needed catmint and I knew where to find some. In our old Twoleg gardens, remember?” She called as she padded over to the edge of the Thunderpath. Fireheart froze. He was now on the other side, searching for the ShadowClan scent and having no luck. But the forest was thick here, and the Thunderpath curved so sharply that a cat had almost no time to be aware… 

A monster sped past them and Nutleaf stepped back, alarmed. Fireheart sighed in relief and started to sniff again. 

Nutleaf's horrified yowl set his blood chilling, and he raced out on the Thunderpath just in time to throw his body over hers, squishing them both to the ground. Luckily for them, this monster was bigger than usual and it raced right over them without causing either harm. Hot, stenched pelts were all either cat got out of the experience, and Fireheart bundled his sister back onto ThunderClan's side of the Thunderpath.

“Oh thank StarClan, I almost lost you!” He whispered, not caring that tears streamed down his cheeks. He buried his face into his sister's pelt and she let him remain still for a few heartbeats, breathing in her scent. 

“You are not allowed out of camp without someone else with you. A warrior or another queen. It can even be Bluestar or Yellowfang, but I need to know that you will be safe in paws that are not your own. Am I understood?” The ginger tom demanded. 

Nutleaf nodded, mute with terror. 

They headed back to camp, catmint clenched proudly in her teeth. All Fireheart could think was that she'd nearly died to prove herself worthy of this world, and nothing was equal to his sister's life. 

* * *

Not even a few moments after Yellowfang pried the catmint from Nutleaf's grasp, the brown and white she-cat went into labor. 

The queens whisked her into the den quicker than any cat could move, and Yellowfang followed after getting a few herbs from her store. Fireheart recognized raspberry and borage among them, and he sank to the ground. 

He almost lost his sister once and now she'd have her kits… 

A warmth at his side made him close his eyes. Someone else was at his other side, he noticed. 

“I can't lose her.” He whimpered. “We just came back from the Thunderpath, we were so lucky that monster was bigger than usual, Stars, Sandstorm, had we been any further left we both would have been squished by its paws but we weren't… by the grace of StarClan, we made it back and now she's having her kits… why would our ancestors have her defy their will only to get another chance at having her join them?” 

“Oh Fireheart…” Willowpelt stopped in front of them, horrified by what she'd heard. “The Thunderpath? Is she okay?” 

“She was when we were on our way back to camp.” The ginger tom scowled. “But now… I don't care what Yellowfang has to do or what happens to those kits. If my sister doesn't make it through her kitting, I'm going to the Moonstone and StarClan can fight me themselves!” He snarled.

“Most queens go through pain in their first kitting, but death is not common. Your sister should be fine.” Dustpelt insisted from his left.

“Why don't we go hunting?” Sandstorm offered quietly. “Or check the borders? Something to take your mind off things.” 

“Can someone find Cinderpaw and Brackenpaw for me? I think it'd be a good idea for them to see a bit of sparring.” 

“I'll get Whitestorm and Runningwind if that's okay with you.” Willowpelt murmured. 

“Feel free.” Fireheart offered dully. 

At least his apprentice was alright, he thought with a sick dread. 

The terrible reminder had him racing into the forest before anyone could object. He stopped to throw up the squirrel he'd had earlier, before racing on without a care in the world. 

“Fireheart!” Willowpelt called after him, alarmed. “Fireheart, where are you going?!” 

* * *

He didn't stop until he was back on the edge of the Thunderpath. 

“Are you mouse-brained or fox-hearted?!” Whitestorm roared. White fur filled his vision before Fireheart had the wind knocked out of him, and he skidded toward the trees. 

“What are you doing, Fireheart? Why did you come here?” He demanded. 

“I…” Why  _ did _ he come here? “I don't know.” He admitted. 

The ginger tom's obsession with the Thunderpath had never truly left him, but Fireheart had never felt the urge to go near it. Even the dread of remembering what happened to Cinderpaw hadn't burned the fire in his belly that had appeared just now. But facing the monster with his sister crouched underneath him… it had done something. Now all he wanted to do was stand in the middle of the dark, slick surface and yowl his heart out. 

He didn't even know where the feeling had come from. It was just…  _ there _ .

“Whitestorm…” 

“We should go to the training hollow. You promised your apprentices a fighting lesson. Hopefully, you can keep your claws sheathed.” The white warrior scowled. 

“I didn't…” 

“Know what you were about to do? Obviously not.” The cat he admired snapped. “Be glad that someone stopped you in time, Fireheart. I get the feeling that your dreams are taking you down a darker path than any cat can imagine. I pray that you are ready for it, because this, what you just did, does not bode well for you.” 

* * *

Nobody asked what happened upon his return, though Whitestorm whispered urgently to Willowpelt when they sat together. Brackenpaw and Cinderpaw sat with Brightpaw and Thornpaw, and Sandstorm was talking with Dustpelt about what moves to show them. 

“Okay, we've decided that Runningwind and Dustpelt will go first, and they're going to show you the belly rake.” Sandstorm announced. 

Huh… that move had taken moons for him to master, pure luck having gotten him the jump on Bluestar the day he told her about Tigerclaw. It was all about timing, that move. 

Fireheart let his thoughts turn to every move he remembered learning in both lives, and apparently that bleeds into his actions, because Whitestorm leapt for him and he allowed instinct to take over. The white tom was on his back after a series of moves apparently unknown to these cats. 

“What are those?!” Brightpaw chirped eagerly.

“Nothing you'll be learning anytime soon. Those are moves Fireheart learned as he watched other cats fight.” Dustpelt informed them. “Why don't we head back to camp? I'm sure Nutleaf will want you to see her kits.” He addressed the last part to Fireheart, who hopped to his paws with an anxious nod. 

“Don't leave without us.” Whitestorm ordered. “For the next moon you'll not leave camp without another warrior at your back.” He insisted. Fireheart's eyes widened before he burst into laughter. 

“That's almost exactly what I told Nutleaf when we got off the Thunderpath!” He gasped, hysterical. 

“Acts of foolishness must run in the family, then.” The white warrior growled. 

“Indeed.” His former apprentice snickered. 

* * *

The first thing Fireheart did when the group returned to camp was head for the nursery. Goldenflower's welcoming purr greeted him, and all previous worries melted away as she led him to where his sister snuggled in her nest with her first litter. 

“Five kits, can you believe it?!” Nutleaf purred. “One of them looks just like you and Dad, while another one looks just like me and Mom! The oldest one is pure white while the youngest one is black and white. Like Swiftpaw.” 

Or Smudge, Fireheart mused. He'd decided half a moon ago that he wouldn't ask who the father of her kits was. If he didn't know them there was no point to asking, and if he did then what would he do about it?

“The smallest one was actually the third one to come out. She's ginger, black and white for some reason.” 

“Our parents are ginger. And one of her siblings is black and white. Why not?” Fireheart wondered. “They're beautiful kits, Nutleaf. Have you thought of names for them?” 

“A bit.” His sister offered. “But I'm not all that great, so I asked the other queens what they thought. The pure white one should be Cloudkit, the black and white one will be Patchkit, the ginger black and white one will be Splashkit-.” 

“Why's that?” Fireheart asked. 

“Because the ginger makes her different from her brother. It looks like splashes of color on her. Anyway, the full ginger will be Flamekit and the brown and white one I haven't decided for. I can't think of anything for him. Do you have any ideas?” 

Fireheart squeezed his eyes shut. He doubted that Nutleaf had any idea what she was asking him to do, and the truth was that he had no idea what the kit should be called either. So he blurted out the first thing that came to mind. 

“Lightkit.”

Nutleaf purred, amused. 

“What made you say that?” She asked, eyes shining with mirth. 

“I have no idea.” He admitted. “It fits though.” He offered weakly. 

She snorted and kept the name. 

“Lightkit he is.” She declared. “Now go tell Sandstorm that you're terrible at naming kits.” 

* * *

Fireheart entered the warrior's den to find that Greystripe was back in his nest. Fireheart did not speak to him; his rage lingered like a dull bruise. He padded silently to his nest, circled once, and settled down to wash. Greystripe looked up. 

“You’re back, then.” The striped tom sounded edgy, as if he wanted to say more. Fireheart stopped licking his forepaw and glared at him. 

“You tried to warn Silverstream off,” Greystripe hissed furiously. Mousefur, who was dozing on the other side of the den, opened one eye, then closed it again. Greystripe lowered his voice. “Stay out of it, will you?” he spat. “I’m going to keep on seeing her, whatever you do or say.” 

Fireheart snorted and flashed a resentful glance at his friend. His talk with Silverstream seemed so long ago, he’d almost forgotten it. But he hadn’t forgotten that Greystripe had been missing when Fireheart had needed him. He laid his head angrily on his muddy forepaws and closed his eyes. Nutleaf had almost died on the Thunderpath and Bluestar was on her eighth life. As far as Fireheart was concerned, Greystripe could do what he liked.

* * *

Greystripe had already left his nest when Fireheart awoke the next day. He could tell it was sunhigh by the light that glowed through the branches. He rose, his body still weary with shock, and pushed his head out of the den. Snow must have been falling all morning, for it lay thick on the ground and had drifted against the den. Fireheart found himself gazing out over a white wall that was as high as his shoulder. The usual bustle of the camp seemed muted. Fireheart could see Willowpelt and Halftail whispering on the far side of the clearing. Mousefur was picking her way laboriously toward the store of fresh-kill, a rabbit dangling from her jaws. She stopped and sneezed, then carried on. Fireheart lifted one paw and rested it on top of the snow. It felt hard at first, but when he pressed down, the thin covering of ice cracked and he gasped as his leg plunged into the drift. Fireheart snorted as he found himself up to his muzzle in snow. Shaking his head and lifting his chin, he leaped forward, only to sink into more deep snow. He struggled on, alarm rising in his chest. It was as if he were drowning in snow! Then, all of a sudden, there was solid ground under his paws. He had reached the edge of the clearing. The snow here was only a mouse-length deep, and Fireheart sat down with a soft crunch, relieved. He tensed when he saw Greystripe plowing toward him. The grey warrior seemed unbothered by it, protected from its damp chill by his thick pelt. His face was shadowed with sorrow. 

“Have you heard about Bluestar?” he asked as he neared. “She lost a life to green-cough.” 

Fireheart flicked his ears impatiently. He could have told his friend that last night. 

“I know,” He sneered. “I was with her.” “Why didn’t you tell me?” insisted the tabby, shocked. 

“You weren’t exactly in a friendly mood last night if you recall. Anyway, if you weren’t off breaking the warrior code, you might know what was going on in your own Clan,” Fireheart snapped.

Greystripe’s ears twitched uncomfortably. “I’ve just seen Nutleaf,” he meowed. “Her kits are cute. Five is big, for a litter.” 

“How is she?” The queen’s brother demanded.

“She looks alright to me,” replied Greystripe.

Fireheart stared anxiously across the clearing and stood up. He wanted to see his sister for himself. 

“She’s asleep now,” Greystripe informed his friend. “Brindleface is with her, and Yellowfang doesn’t want anyone else disturbing her.” 

Fireheart flinched involuntarily. He'd vowed to keep an eye on her, but him not paying attention had almost gotten them killed! Instinctively, Fireheart turned to Greystripe, seeking reassurance, but the grey tabby was trudging across the snowy clearing toward the nursery. 

_ Off to see Silverstream _ , Fireheart guessed resentfully, sheathing and unsheathing his claws as he watched his friend disappear from sight.

_ I swear if it weren't for Stormfur and Feathertail…  _

 Fireheart hardly noticed that Speckletail was right in front of him.

“Is Tigerclaw inside?” she asked, pointing with her nose to the warriors’ den. Fireheart shook his head. 

“There’s green-cough in the nursery.” She informed him. “Two of Brindleface’s kits are sick.” 

“Green-cough!” Fireheart snapped. Another thing he couldn't do much against. “How far along is it? You said these are kits?!” At Speckletail's gentle nod, he went on. “Will they die?” He asked frantically, thinking of Nutleaf's newborn litter.

“Yellowfang will do what she can,” answered Speckletail. “But in the end, it’s up to StarClan.” A flash of fury flared in Fireheart’s belly as Speckletail turned away and padded back to the nursery. He jumped up and raced blindly across the snowy clearing, through the gorse tunnel and out into the forest. At the moment, it was all he could do to put as much distance as possible between himself and the camp. He finally stopped beneath Tallpines, his sides heaving with the effort of running through the snow. There was stillness here that calmed him. Even the birds had stopped singing. Fireheart felt as if he were the only creature in the world. He didn’t know where he was going; he just padded on, letting the woods soothe him. As he walked, his mind cleared. He could do nothing to help Nutleaf cope with the Thunderpath, and Greystripe was out of reach, but he was well able to help Yellowfang fight greencough. Catmint was something the Clan would always have need of. Fireheart turned his steps toward his old kittypet home, weaving through the brambles in the oak woods that backed onto Twolegplace. He leaped to the top of the fence, nudging a ridge of snow into the garden below. It fell with a soft clump. Fireheart peered down into the garden. He could see tracks, smaller than a cat’s. A squirrel had been out hunting for its store of nuts. It didn’t take Fireheart long to pluck a generous mouthful of leaves from the catnip bush. He wanted to take as much as he could. Its soft leaves might not survive this weather; this could be his last chance to gather it.

The idea of Twolegplace had him racing back to ThunderClan, desperately fighting the urge to cram every last leaf he'd picked down Nutleaf's throat. 

_ She's not going to die. The kits will be okay. StarClan will see them through. _

StarClan… he hadn't heard from Redtail or Spottedleaf since the battle against Brokenstar, and Fireheart worried. Had they decided he's had one too many chances? Would they forsake him altogether? 

Fireheart shook himself out. The half-moon would arrive soon. He'd ask Bluestar if he could go to Highstones with Yellowfang. For now, he had a Clan to keep healthy. 

* * *

“I do recall telling you not to leave camp without someone with you.” 

Whitestorm saw him return, jaws crammed with catmint. “Though it was wise of you to get herbs while they're available.” 

Fireheart dipped his head in thanks and headed toward Yellowfang’s den. Tigerclaw appeared at his side. 

“More catnip?” observed the great tabby, eyes suspicious. “I wondered where you’d gone. Brackenpaw can take that to Yellowfang.” 

The brown tom was helping to clear away snow nearby. 

“Come and take this catnip to Yellowfang,” Tigerclaw ordered the apprentice. Brackenpaw nodded and bounded over, taking the leaves from Fireheart.

“I wanted to visit Nutleaf,” he meowed to Tigerclaw. 

“Not just yet,” insisted the deputy. He waited while Brackenpaw picked up the catnip and carried it off to Yellowfang’s den. Then he turned back to Fireheart. 

“I want to know where Greystripe has been going.” Fireheart felt the heat rising under his fur. 

“I have no clue,” he scowled, holding Tigerclaw’s gaze. Tigerclaw stared back at him, his eyes cold and hostile. 

“When you see him,” The deputy hissed. “tell him he’s confined to the fallen oak.” 

“Yellowfang’s old den?” Fireheart glanced at the tangled branches where the medicine cat had lived when she first came into the ThunderClan camp, when she was still considered a ShadowClan outcast. Swiftpaw was there, lying beside Speckletail’s dark tabby kit. 

“Cats with white-cough are confined there until they are well again.”

“I thought Greystripe only had a cold?” Fireheart protested. 

“A cold is bad enough. He’ll stay at the fallen oak!” Tigerclaw repeated. “Cats with green-cough are to nest with Yellowfang. We must stop this sickness from spreading.” 

The deputy’s eyes flashed. Fireheart wondered if he thought of illness as a sign of weakness. 

“I’ll tell Greystripe.” 

“And keep away from Bluestar,” the deputy warned. 

“She no longer has greencough,” Fireheart objected.

“I am aware of that, but her den still reeks of the sickness. I can’t afford to have any of my warriors falling ill. Whitestorm tells me that RiverClan warriors have been scented even closer to the camp. He also told me he had to train your apprentices today. Either find Greystripe and make him take responsibility or keep training both apprentices with the help of your denmates. Whichever happens, those two better not suffer for it.” 

“They won't, Tigerclaw.” Fireheart breathed, shocked. The dark brown tabby actually sounded like he  _ cared _ … 

Fireheart met Brackenpaw in the middle of the clearing. 

“Yellowfang was very grateful for the catmint,” Brackenpaw informed him. 

“Good,” answered Fireheart. “By the way, I’m teaching you and Cinderpaw how to catch birds tomorrow. I hope you’re ready for a bit of tree climbing.” Brackenpaw’s whiskers twitched excitedly. 

“Definitely! Cinderpaw’ll never get to sleep now! She'll be so excited!”

Fireheart nodded and carried on to Yellowfang’s den. He spotted Brindleface’s poor kits straightaway. They lay coughing in a bracken nest, their noses and eyes streaming. Yellowfang greeted him, relieved. 

“Thanks for the catmint; we’re going to need it. Patchpelt has greencough now.” She gestured with her nose toward another nest in the bracken. Inside, Fireheart could see the old tom’s matted black-and-white fur. 

“Have you seen Nutleaf today?” he asked, looking back at the medicine cat. Yellowfang nodded with a dark sigh. 

“She was awake earlier, but not for long. She doesn't have greencough, but one of her kits has a cold, and something strange must have happened on the Thunderpath, because she's not producing enough milk. StarClan knows, I’ve tried everything, but she must fight this one herself.” 

Fireheart shuddered; he couldn't afford to imagine what would happen if he lost his sister. He turned back to Yellowfang, looking for words of encouragement, but the medicine cat sat with her head low, completely. 

“Do you think Spottedleaf would have been able to save these cats?” She meowed unexpectedly, raising her head to meet his gaze. Fireheart shook his head. He could still sense Spottedleaf’s presence here in the clearing. He remembered how efficiently she’d tended to Ravenpaw’s shoulder wound after the battle with RiverClan, and how carefully she’d advised him about caring for Yellowfang when the old she-cat had first come to the ThunderClan camp.

“I’m sure there’s nothing Spottedleaf would have done differently,” he told her. One of the kits cried out and Yellowfang sprang up. As she passed, Fireheart leaned forward and gently stroked the old cat’s side with his muzzle. She twitched her shoulder gratefully at him. Then, filled with sadness, he turned and padded toward the fern tunnel.

* * *

Greystripe was back, munching a vole beside the nettle clump. Fireheart padded over to him. 

“Tigerclaw says you’ve got to move to the fallen oak, with the white-cough cats.” he meowed. With a prickle of resentment, he remembered how the deputy had questioned him about his friend. 

“That won’t be necessary,” replied Greystripe cheerfully. “I’m better now. Yellowfang gave me the all-clear this morning.” 

Fireheart looked closely at Greystripe. His eyes were certainly bright again, and his runny nose had dried to an unappealing crust. At any other time, Fireheart would have teased him about how much he looked like Runningnose, the ShadowClan medicine cat. 

Now he spat crossly,  “Tigerclaw has noticed your disappearances. You should be more careful.” 

Greystripe stopped chewing and stared angrily back at Fireheart. 

“And why can’t you mind your own business?” 

Fireheart closed his eyes and snorted with frustration. Would he ever get through to this tom?!! Then he wondered if he even cared anymore. After all, Greystripe hadn’t asked about Nutleaf. 

Fireheart’s stomach growled to tell him he was hungry. He might as well eat. He took a sparrow from the pile of fresh-kill and carried it away to a deserted corner of the camp to eat alone. As he settled down, he thought of the nursery, full of kits. Five of them were related to him. He wondered how many kits would be affected this leafbare… StarClan willing, no nursery would be stricken by the disease.


	15. Fourteen

The next few days saw Fireheart in the nursery almost every day. If he wasn't cleaning the dens, he was stocking the fresh-kill pile. Let Greystripe handle the apprentices for a few days, he thought bitterly. Only it didn't work like that, because Greystripe kept going to see Silverstream. 

_Stars, I loved watching Stormfur grow as a cat but if his parents don't stop sniffing each other's tails-!_

“Fireheart!” Sandstorm hissed. They were on patrol, and he'd just missed a mouse. 

“Yes?” He grumbled tersely. 

“Okay, so since we're clearly not getting anywhere,” She sighed. “we should talk.” 

Fireheart froze. That never meant anything good. 

“About what?” 

“I dunno, how are Cinderpaw and Brackenpaw doing in training? Greystripe's never around, though StarClan knows where he gets off to. I don't know why he thinks it's okay to slack on training his apprentice, but it's not.” Sandstorm scoffed. “It's taxing on you, me, Dustpelt and whoever else we rope into training sessions because Greystripe won't do his job! I'd confront him if he was ever around, but we don't know when he comes and goes. It's annoying, and he's missing out on the greatest feeling in the world!” She groused. 

“You think being a mentor is the greatest feeling in the world?” Fireheart chuckled. 

“Of course it is! Brightpaw is so clever, and I feel like I'm teaching her to be the best that she can, to reach her full potential. They're going to be the best warriors ThunderClan has to offer, and if Greystripe can't look past his own nose to see that then he's obviously not worthy of an apprentice.” 

She was going to say more, but they'd reached the river. 

“It's completely frozen!” Sandstorm breathed. “We have to tell Bluestar! She can send a patrol to confront RiverClan!”

“That's the exact opposite of what needs to happen.” Fireheart found himself saying. Sandstorm looked at him curiously. 

“I know you have friends in RiverClan-.” 

“I'd be saying this if it were one of the other three Clans as well. We can't afford a battle at this time and it just so happens that they have a reason for invading.” 

“And just what would that be?” Sandstorm sneered. 

“They're starving. The Twolegs have messed things up for them so badly that they're searching for land prey! Can you imagine a RiverClan cat trying to catch a squirrel? They're neither trained for it nor suited to it. They're desperate.” Fireheart snapped.

“That doesn't give them the right to be on our territory.” Sandstorm insisted gently. “I know you have friends-.” 

“I wish I could tell you…” he murmured, rubbing his head along her chin. 

“If there's something you know-.” 

“But it's for the best that this keep going. Hopefully RiverClan will find a better food source and hopefully Greystripe will get his head out of his tail, but I don't see either happening anytime soon.” 

* * *

Sandstorm tore through the gorse tunnel just ahead of Fireheart. They decided that telling Bluestar what they found was best. She was the leader for a reason, and Fireheart would have to trust her judgement. 

Tigerclaw glanced up as they skidded to a halt in the clearing. Greystripe padded through the entrance with Brackenpaw. Bluestar's voice jolted him from his thoughts.

“How was your patrol?” 

Fireheart felt a flood of relief when he saw the grey leader looking her normal self, sitting with her chin high and her tail tucked over her front paws. 

Sandstorm bounded over to the Highrock. 

“The river’s frozen,” she informed. “We could cross it easily right now!” 

Bluestar gazed thoughtfully at the warrior. Fireheart flinched when he saw the ThunderClan leader’s eyes gleam. 

“Thank you, Sandstorm.” she meowed. “You may both go.” 

Fireheart nodded and padded away, glancing over at Greystripe. 

“You two look like you had fun!” Dustpelt had emerged from the warriors’ den. 

“We found out that the river’s frozen. I think Bluestar’s planning a raid on RiverClan!” Sandstorm chirped.

At that moment their leader’s call sounded from the Highrock, and the Clan began to gather in the clearing. The sun had reached its high point, which in leaf-bare meant that it was barely above the treetops. 

“Sandstorm and Fireheart have brought good news. The river is frozen over!” Bluestar announced. “We will take this opportunity to ensure that they stop stealing our prey. We will track down one of their patrols and give them a warning that they’ll remember for a long time!” 

Fireheart winced as he remembered what Stonefur and Silverstream had told him about the Twolegs. Around him, the others raised their voices in eager yowls. The Clan hasn't had many chances for victory the past moon. Of course they would be excited.

“Tigerclaw!” Bluestar called above the din. “Are our warriors fit enough for this task?” 

The deputy nodded. 

“Excellent.” Bluestar lifted her tail. “We leave at sunset.” 

The Clan roared with delight. Fireheart’s paws prickled. Bluestar had said we, which meant she intended on going with them.

_Surely she wouldn’t risk her last life on a border raid?_

Fireheart searched the crowd for Greystripe. He was staring up at the Highrock, tail twitching nervously. As the yowls died away, Greystripe called out: “It feels warmer today. A thaw could make the ice too dangerous to cross.” Fireheart held his breath as the other cats turned to look curiously at the grey tabby. Tigerclaw stared down at Greystripe, his amber eyes puzzled. “You’re not usually reluctant to fight,” the dark warrior meowed slowly. Darkstripe craned his neck and added, “You’re not afraid of those RiverClan fleabags, are you?” 

His friend fidgeted uncomfortably as the Clan waited for an answer. 

“Sure _looks_ scared!” Dustpelt hissed

from Sandstorm’s side. Fireheartrolled his eyes. Dustpelt was angry that Greystripe abandoned his apprentice every other day, but this was taking it too far! 

He managed to keep his voice light as he called out in defense of the grey tabby.

“Of course he's scared!” Fireheart snarled. “The last time we thought it was safe, he fell through and nearly drowned! I'd think he's not too keen on doing that twice, and I'm not all that happy about seeing it. We need to consider this!” 

The tension in the Clan thickened as Fireheart's permeated their thoughts. Surely they wouldn't lose warriors to such terrible fates?!

Greystripe glared at the ground, ears flat. Only Tigerclaw kept his suspicious frown. Bluestar waited until the murmurings had died away. 

“I must discuss this with my senior warriors.” She announced before she leaped down from the Highrock. Her balance was perfect, landing so lightly that it was hard to believe that she had been fighting for her lives just days ago. 

Tigerclaw, Whitestorm, and Willowpelt followed her to her den, and the rest of the Clan broke away into groups to discuss the proposed attack. 

“I suppose you expect me to thank you for embarrassing me!” Fireheart heard Greystripe’s angry hiss in his ear.

“Be grateful I’m still covering up for you.” The ginger tom sneered before bounding for the nursery, bristling with fury. 

“I heard Bluestar’s announcement.” Nutleaf’s voice calmed him significantly, and the oldest her litter, Cloudkit, barrelled into him. 

“Fiyahar!” He squealed. 

“They can talk already?” He blurted out, surprised. 

“It’s been a moon or two,” Nutleaf chuckled, amused at her brother’s obvious question. “Not that you’d notice, being a warrior and all.”

Fireheart recoiled. 

“I could never forget you guys! You’re my kin!” He meowed desperately. 

“I never meant to imply differently, brother… are you alright?” She asked. 

“Fine,” The ginger tom groused. “Just… not at my best.”  
“Sit with me, then. Maybe talking would help with the worst of your emotions.” 

He was content to do just that when he spotted Greystripe at the camp entrance. 

“I’ll have to take you up on that later.” HE found himself saying.

Nutleaf nodded anxiously and pressed her nose to his shoulder. 

“Be safe today.” She offered. Fireheart nodded and lumbered stealthily to his paws, heading for the gorse tunnel. Greystripe glared at the ginger tom as he approached, but before either warrior could speak, Bluestar’s call sounded once more from the Highrock.

Fireheart stopped where he was but didn’t take his eyes off Greystripe.

“Willowpelt agrees with young Greystripe that a thaw would hinder our plans.” Greystripe lifted his chin and flashed a defiant look at Fireheart, but the ginger tom didn’t care. It sounded a lot like Bluestar was going to call off the raid. This would be the best choice. It meant that Greystripe wouldn’t have to choose between his Clan and Silverstream, and Fireheart wouldn’t have to join a raiding party against a Clan he knew was already suffering. But Bluestar hadn’t finished… 

“So we will attack at once!”

 _There we go._ **That** sounded more like Bluestar. 

Fireheart glanced sideways—Greystripe’s look of triumph had turned to one of sheer horror.

“Bearing in mind the threat of the former ShadowClan rogues, we cannot leave the camp unguarded. Five warriors will make the raid.”

 _Good_ , thought Fireheart, relieved. She wasn’t planning to risk her final life after all. “Tigerclaw will lead the raiding party, taking Darkstripe, Willowpelt, and Longtail with him. That leaves one more place.”

“Can I go?” Fireheart burst out. Even though his heart felt heavy at the thought of attacking hungry RiverClan cats, it meant that Greystripe wouldn’t have to make a choice.

“Thank you, Fireheart. You may join the patrol.” Bluestar was clearly pleased by her former apprentice’s eagerness. Tigerclaw didn’t look so happy. He narrowed his eyes at Fireheart, gazing at him with undisguised suspicion. 

“You must leave quickly.” Bluestar insisted. “StarClan go with you!”

Darkstripe, Longtail, and Willowpelt sped after Tigerclaw. Fireheart followed them as they thundered through the gorse tunnel and headed up the ravine, toward RiverClan territory.

* * *

They charged past Sunningrocks and reached the enemy border as the low leaf-bare sun began to dip toward the forest. Fireheart sniffed the air. He could smell warmer winds and rain clouds were already pushing in over the treetops.

As they raced down the slope toward the river, Fireheart felt a deep sense of regret. RiverClan’s desperate story rang in his ears-. 

_Sandstorm was right about them sticking to their own territory._

The ThunderClan warriors emerged from the bracken and skidded to a stop at the edge of the river. The sight that greeted them brought the patrol up short. The shining sheet of ice that had previously greeted Fireheart and Sandstorm was broken up into a rushing flow of cold, black water.

* * *

Tigerclaw turned to his warriors, pale eyes flashing with frustration. 

“We’ll have to wait,” he snarled.

The patrol turned and began to trudge home. Fireheart sent up a wordless prayer of thanks to StarClan, but there was a bitter taste in his throat. He was glad for the chance to prove his loyalty to his Clan. After all, Greystripe wasn’t the only one with ties to RiverClan.

 

Fireheart kept silent all the way home. Every now and then he saw Tigerclaw flash a glance at him over his massive brown shoulder. 

The light of the short leaf-bare day was fading when they finally reached the top of the ravine. Fireheart waited for the others to pick their way down, head swimming. By the time he padded through the gorse tunnel, Tigerclaw was already explaining to the disappointed Clan that the river had thawed.

Fireheart scanned the camp clearing for Graystripe. He needed to know if his friend had slipped out of the camp. 

As he approached the center of camp, he heard a familiar snarl. 

“Fireheart!”

The ginger tom snorted. Greystripe had no right to be angry when he was the one breaking the rules. He followed the grey tom’s voice into the shadows behind the nursery.

He didn’t see Greystripe coming. 

Something crashed into his side with a mighty thump. Fireheart whipped around, every sense heightened and completely on edge. What was Greystripe playing at?! 

He saw the tom with his hackles raised, silhouetted in the dimness.

Graystripe lunged again. Fireheart ducked just in time as his former friend swung a wide gray paw at his ear.

“You thought I would betray ThunderClan!” He aimed another swipe. This one caught the tip of Fireheart’s ear.

Pain and fury shot through him. 

“I needed to save you from making a choice!” he spat.

He’d put all the trust in the world into his old friend, and this was his reward? Why didn’t he see this the first time around?!

“I make my own choices,” Graystripe snarled.

Fireheart struggled free and leaped onto Graystripe’s back. 

“They’re not very good ones.” The ginger tom chuckled coldly. “You really should cover your scent trails better.”

He hopped off the larger tom and loped into the clearing. Greystripe wouldn’t take that lying down. He was more hotheaded and stubborn than Dustpelt sometimes!

Sure enough, Fireheart was knocked off his paws by an unseen force, and a flash of grey tabby fur confirmed his suspicions. 

The cats in the clearing sprang out of the way as the two young warriors bundled into them. Fireheart snarled as sharp teeth sank into his foreleg. He thrust upward and an enraged howl told him that his claws met skin. 

“Stop this at once!” Bluestar’s stern yowl made Graystripe freeze. Fireheart released his  grip on the larger tom and shuffled sideways, pain lancing through him with each breath he took. Graystripe backed away, fur higher than ever. Out of the of his eye, Fireheart saw Tigerclaw sneering with barely suppressed delight. 

Of course he would take pleasure in this! The ginger tom scoffed. But he had no time for Tigerclaw when Bluestar was furious beyond measure and expecting answers. 

“Fireheart, I want to see you in my den!” Bluestar growled, her blue eyes flashing fire.

“Graystripe, go to your nest  _ and stay there _ !”

The rest of the Clan melted away, gone with the excitement. Fireheart limped after Bluestar to her den, eyes fixed on the ground. He was tired, and so very ready to give up. What was the point in being here if everything was going the exact same way it was the first time? On top of that, his memories were slipping away! This couldn’t be StarClan’s plan! 

Bluestar sat down on the sandy floor and stared at Fireheart in disbelief before she spoke, her voice sharp. 

“I realize feelings are running high right now, but I never expected to see you fighting one of your closest friends. How badly are you hurt?” She demanded.

“I’ll see Yellowfang later.” He lied. There was no need to bother Yellowfang over self-inflicted wounds.

“Are you going to tell me what this is about?” She snapped. 

Fireheart met her gaze as steadily as he could. 

“I can’t explain.” 

_ At least that much is true _ , he thought.

“Is there something you would like to tell me, Fireheart?” She asked gently. “Something not for all ears?”    


His dreams, he realized. She was asking about his dreams. 

“Perhaps another time, Bluestar. This was unexpected, but it won’t happen again.” 

“Very well,” meowed Bluestar after a few tense heartbeats.”I expect to see you at moonhigh, young tom.”    
“Of course.” He murmured. No doubt, Greystripe wouldn’t be around to hear what came next. 

* * *

Moonhigh found several cats on patrol, Bluestar in the lead. 

“What in the name of StarClan happened today?” Dustpelt demanded the next time Fireheart saw him. The ginger tom sighed and shook his head. 

“I’ll let you know when I know myself. Greystripe’s too slippery to catch these days.” 

The others took his answer with a grain of salt and were more than happy to trod on to their usual clearing. 

“Okay, so the last time we met I told you all about Princess in the last life…” 


	16. Fifteen

Fireheart awoke to warm air and greenery, and he knew where he was without bothering to ask. 

“It’s about time someone showed up.” He growled, heaving himself to his paws. 

“You’re having a time of things, aren’t you, young tom?” Redtail snorted. He whirled around to find his former deputy and his medical mentor sitting side by side. The ginger warrior rolled his eyes. 

“Oh, you two are just brilliant.” He scowled to the tortoiseshell littermates. “Giggling up here in StarClan while I’m down there trying to keep my life together! You’re just wonderful. I love it.”

“You, my friend, need to learn how to relax.” Redtail snickered.

“I’m losing my mind trying to keep things going alright and you want me to relax?! Fireheart snapped. “I’m down there trying to remember what happened so I can change things, so less cats die and everyone can live their lives, and you have the audacity to tell me to relax?!” He roared. “Why don’t I shove nine lives’ worth of memories in your head and see how well you do!” 

“My warrior with a heart of fire… you simply know too much.” Spottedleaf purred sadly. 

Fireheart was surrounded by warmth and tortoiseshell fur entered his vision. Spottedleaf giggled a few feet away and Fireheart resigned himself to something he recalled Sandstorm saying that Redtail did. The tortoiseshell tom was big by forest cat standards, but that was mostly fur. He also was  _ very _ long, and when he stretched out like he was doing now, he was pretty good at smothering whatever unfortunately smaller cat crossed his path. 

“Breathe, little one. We have a plan.” The tom's voice was smooth and low, not entirely like Tigerclaw's, but not  _ unlike _ him either. 

“We have here a pile of Dreamstones. They break upon impact with the right cat, and you'll recognize them on sight. Place your memories in these stones and when the time comes, you'll know which part of your life is happening and you'll be able to make your choices better.” Redtail informed the ginger tom, still curled around him. 

“It's better than what happened to Goosefeather.” Spottedleaf murmured sadly. At Fireheart's questioning look, she explained.

“The medicine cat before my mentor was named Goosefeather, and he was given the ability to see prophecies that wouldn't happen for many moons. I assume that some of what you saw and some of what he saw overlaps, at least if what's from your last life is the same as this one.” 

“Touch your nose to the stones, same as you would the Moonstone. You will feel tired, but instead of sleep, your memories will come rushing back.” Redtail explained. 

So Fireheart did… and promptly blacked out. 

* * *

When he awoke, it was to the tortoiseshell twins staring at him anxiously and prodding him every few heartbeats. A glance told him that the stones were glowing with all the ferocity of a well-lit Moonstone. The pain that stalked his every pawstep was surprisingly absent, and he found himself able to think without trying too hard. 

“How do you feel?” Spottedleaf asked. 

Fireheart blinked slowly. 

“Fine, more than.” He purred drowsily. “Can I get some sleep now? Sandstorm’ll wake me up if I sleep too late and I think I have dawn patrol in the morning.” The ginger tom yawned. 

“Sleep well, Fireheart.” Their voices mingled and he closed his eyes for about the third time that night. 

* * *

Fireheart awoke early the next morning. The sun hadn’t risen yet and the clearing was empty as he padded outside. 

_ What to do, what to do… _ it was clear that no one was up. He headed for the entrance to camp. A hunt would do him some good. 

* * *

The camp was alive and well by the time he brought the last of his (three trips worth) cache of prey to the pile. 

“Ah, I was wondering why the fresh-kill pile looked so full. You did well enough that some of it had to go into the snow store.” Tigerclaw’s begrudging praise made his fur prickle, and Fireheart shook his head. 

“Sandstorm could probably catch all that in half the time.” He snorted. “I just had the fortunace to wake up early.”    
“Well, good for you.” Tigerclaw snorted. “You’ve basically done the morning hunt, so I’ll have to send out border patrols instead. Go on and do whatever it is you young cats like. And…” Here, Tigerclaw smirked. “Do try not to agitate Greystripe. I’m sending him on as many patrols as I can spare.” 

Fireheart rolled his eyes and padded for Yellowfang’s den. Despite his wounds drying up in StarClan, he wanted to make sure he was at his best. 

“What’s Patchkit doing here?!” He yelped. 

Flamekit had died mere hours after he was born, a result of the stress Nutleaf had been under. The brown and white queen had been inconsolable that day… and no one had been allowed in the nursery for almost a quarter moon after that. Could his sister stand to lose another kit? 

“Kittencough.” Yellowfang meowed sagely. “He’s been in and out of here every few days since he was born, the poor thing. This… I’m sorry, Fireheart, but this looks like his final battle. The herb for kittencough died out when the Twolegs built their gardens.” 

And with it, all hopes for Patchkit… 

“Should I tell Nutleaf?”

Yellowfang shook her head. 

“It’ll be better coming from me.” She murmured grimly. “Was there a reason you came here?” 

“I didn’t get my wounds checked after my spat with Greystripe.” He informed her. “And while I did share dreams with StarClan, I’m not sure my wounds healed.” 

“You… shared dreams with StarClan?” Yellowfang breathed. 

“With Redtail and Spottedleaf. I haven’t seen anyone else and I don’t expect to.” 

“StarClan rarely heeds to our expectations.” The healer snorted. “Did they say anything important to the Clan?” 

“What makes you ask that?” 

“Sometimes spirits like to fixate on a living cat. They might guide them through life or simply use them to experience the living. It’s rare, but it has happened before.” 

* * *

Fireheart got to spend the rest of the day lounging around camp. He made his rounds to the other dens as the sun made its way across the sky. Halftail had a story about when Bluestar and Lionheart went out into the snow for the first time, as well as Bluestar’s first battle with WindClan, where the ThunderClan cats stole precious herbs.

_ Poor Moonflower… but I would die before anyone got to medicine den with harmful intentions.  _

He and Cloudkit played Mossball, and Nutleaf all but screeched with panic when her kit disappeared behind the nursery to fetch his toy. 

Tigerclaw emerged from behind the kitten, holding the moss ball between his teeth. He carried the ball over to the kit and dropped it by Cloudkit’s paws. 

“Be careful,” he growled. “You wouldn’t want to lose such a precious plaything.” As he spoke, the dark warrior stared at Fireheart over Cloudkit’s head.

Fireheart bristled. 

“Is that a challenge?!” Nutleaf snapped, storming over to the large warrior and thrusting her muzzle in his face. 

“The last cat to tell me off got my claws to their eyes for their cheeky words. You would do well not to make that mistake.” 

“You would do well to remember who you speak with.” 

“I could give a mouse tail about who you think you are, Tigerclaw. You harm my son in any way and you  _ will _ regret it.” 

The deputy dipped his head and loped off. 

Nutleaf padded back to where Fireheart had all but wrapped himself around Cloudtail. 

“We’re going inside.” She informed her brother and her kit. “Cloudkit has had enough excitement for one day, and so have I. We’ll see you later, Fireheart.”    
The ginger tom nodded. 

“Be careful.” He warned. She nodded and they disappeared into the nursery.

* * *

He searched for the apprentices after that, which found him at the sandy hollow, watching them train together. 

“Who’s a terrible mentor now?” Greystripe sneered when he caught sight of the ginger warrior. 

“Still you.” Fireheart retorted sharply. “Don’t let me stop you all from training.”    
By the time they were done, it was time to go to the Gathering. 

Just about everyone wanted to go to this one, and Fireheart could see why. Not only did RiverClan have to answer for moving beyond their borders (part of which was Greystripe’s fault) but there had been strange scents wafting over the ShadowClan border, and although no cat had been caught yet, it was only a matter of time before someone was.

He, Sandstorm and Nutleaf were the youngest cats picked, and Bluestar confided that she wanted the brown and white she-cat to make some friends. 

“She only really has you, from what I’ve noticed. Sure, everyone is nice to her and the Clan is always there for a queen, but she needs to get to know cats.”    
Whatever happened, this Gathering would be an eventful one.


	17. Sixteen

RiverClan and ShadowClan had not yet arrived, but WindClan was already there. Tallstar greeted Bluestar with a respectful nod. Fireheart spotted Onewhisker and bounded over to meet him. 

“Hi!” he meowed. It had been over two moons since he’d last seen the small brown tabby warrior at Fourtrees, when WindClan had been brought home. 

“How’s everyone been? How’s Morningflower?”

“Happy to be home,” replied Onewhisker. “Her kit is growing quickly now.” 

Fireheart purred gratefully. 

“The whole Clan is well,” Onewhisker added. He glanced at Fireheart with an amused gleam in his eyes. “It’s great to eat rabbit again. I hope I never have to taste another rat as long as I live!”

Fireheart detected a fresh scent on the night air. RiverClan was coming. He could smell ShadowClan, too. He scanned the ridge that ran around the edge of the hollow. Sure enough, RiverClan cats were streaming down one side. On the opposite ridge, Fireheart saw ShadowClan cats poised at the top, their coats gleaming in the moonlight. The lean figure of Nightpelt stood at the head of the group.

“At last,” growled Onewhisker. He’d spotted them as well. “It’s too cold to be hanging around tonight.”

Fireheart nodded absently. He was searching the crowd of RiverClan cats as they entered the clearing, looking for Silverstream. He recognized the pale gray she-cat easily. She skidded to a halt at the bottom of the slope, then followed her father as he exchanged reserved greetings with the warriors from the other Clans. Fireheart was tracking her so closely that he didn’t hear Deadfoot approach.

“Good evening,” meowed the WindClan deputy. “How are you?”

“Fine, more than.” The ginger tom meowed. He was about to say more when the familiar call of his sister jolted him from his thoughts. 

“Fireheart, Fireheart!” She yelped. “You didn’t tell me there’d be so many cats!” 

Nutleaf was shivering, he realized as she promptly glued herself to his side. 

“Greetings, young one.” Deadfoot meowed calmly. “Might I ask your name?” 

“Nutleaf.” The brown and white she-cat stammered.  “I assume you are from ThunderClan?” 

Nutleaf nodded. 

“Fireheart’s my brother. I only came tonight because he and Bluestar want me to meet new cats, but there’s so many in ThunderClan alone… Stars, I’m babbling! I knew I should have stayed in the nursery!” She squeaked. 

“You can’t hide in a den forever.” Fireheart insisted gently. 

“Watch me!” She hissed. “At the very least, I know Cloudkit will be getting into all sorts of trouble without me.” 

“Cloudkit has Frostfur to reel him in.” Her brother reminded her. “He’ll not put one paw out of line if he wants to play Mossball ever again. You’ll be fine, Nutleaf, and if you feel too overwhelmed you can always stick with me.” 

“If you’d like, I could show you around a bit.” Deadfoot was the one who spoke, much to the surprise of his tabby Clanmate. 

“If it’s not too much trouble.” Nutleaf whispered. 

“You remind me quite a bit of my son, Crowkit. He’s at the age where he can start walking and is absolutely determined to do so by himself, but if he sees another cat besides me or Ashfoot coming, he’ll run for the nest quicker than we can say ‘hare!’ It’s the cutest thing.” Deadfoot purred. “You mentioned that you have kits of your own?” 

Deadfoot lead Nutleaf through the crowd, and Fireheart, confident in the WindClan deputy, turned back to Onewhisker. 

“You’ve been blessed by StarClan!” 

Fireheart fought the urge to laugh. Poor Onewhisker had no idea how right he was. 

“Seriously, Deadfoot only talks to Tallstar and Ashfoot, and I’ve never heard him breathe a word about Crowkit!” 

“That’s nice to know.” The ThunderClan warrior chuckled, scanning the crowd for Silverstream. She sat with Blackclaw and Greenflower, and she flicked her tail when she met his gaze. 

“Would you like to meet some of my friends?” He asked. 

Onewhisker nodded and they weaved through the crowd. 

“Well met, Firestar.” Silverstream purred, dipping her head. 

“You’ve got to stop calling me that.” Fireheart groaned. “I’m not going to be leader of ThunderClan.” 

At least, he hoped. He desperately, desperately hoped. 

“Well, you act like one.” Greenflower chirped. “Have you met Blackclaw? He’s my mate!” 

“We’ve met.” The RiverClan tom nodded politely. 

“It’s good to see you again, and congratulations.” 

“To you as well, or so I hear.” Greenflower purred. “So, what’s she like?” 

He was saved from having to answer by the call for the Gathering to start. 

“We welcome Tallstar and WindClan back to the forest!”

* * *

“RiverClan has been on our territory and I would like to know why.” Bluestar hissed acidly. 

“The river has been frozen for too long this leafbare, and the Twolegs have caused lasting damage to the prey in our territory. We have to go out of our way for food, yes, but we've found a spot. Any cats found on your territory are not there on any mission I know of, so feel free to treat them as you wish. No true member of RiverClan would be so foolish as to disobey their leader. Besides, ThunderClan seems remarkably keen to mark their border with us, so there shouldn't be a problem.” 

Bluestar looked troubled, but dipped her head.

“We'll keep sharp eyes on who comes and goes. Hopefully after tonight, no cat will stray.” 

Fireheart found himself looking for Greystripe, mind blazing with fury. It was about time the grey tabby took responsibility for his actions. 

Blackstar,” Bluestar went on to address the new leader. “ShadowClan seems to be thriving under your leadership.” 

“Thank you, Bluestar.” 

“Have you seen any hint of Brokenstar in your territory? We've found strange scents on ours, like ShadowClan mixed with nothing I've ever put my nose to before.” 

Blackstar bristled, shocked. 

“We have not.” He offered solemnly. “But if we do, if any of you encounter our former leader and his band of rogues, make sure you're not alone and make sure he dies for it.” 

“Indeed, we will keep that in mind.” Tallstar spoke for the first time tonight. “Because we have come across the same scents as Bluestar on some of our patrols. It would seem that Brokenstar couldn't see fit to  _ stay _ gone.” 

“Well, let us hope he hasn't got anything in the works for newleaf, but we should watch our backs nonetheless,” Blackstar announced to the cats of the Gathering. “I won't tell your leaders how to lead, but for your own safety, do not go anywhere alone. Brokenstar is too dangerous to be faced head-on without at least a patrol’s worth of cats.” 

“We will keep your concerns in mind. Thank you for your advice to us and your service to ShadowClan.” 

The other three leaders had merely the usual to report, so the Gathering ended rather quickly. 

Fireheart found himself brushing pelts with Nutleaf as she chattered on about Deadfoot and who she was introduced to. 

“I'm proud of you.” He murmured to his sister. “Thank you for being so brave tonight. You faced a fear.” 

“I had help.” Nutleaf mumbled. 

“You did make a friend or two.” Fireheart chuckled. “What did you and Deadfoot talk about?” 

Nutleaf brightened and told her brother all about the WindClan deputy and his family. His mate was eager to be a warrior again, so instead of lounging around in the den with Crowkit, Ashfoot often taught him hunting crouches and WindClan battle swipes. Nothing major, of course, but just enough to keep her kit entertained and herself sharp on her paws. 

“I was thinking, now that the kits are up and about, that I could start spending time with Yellowfang in the medicine den. I’d still be wherever my kits are, but it’d be nice to see what I’m getting into.” 

“That sounds like a good idea. You should see what Bluestar and Yellowfang think.”

He was sure the former ShadowClan medicine cat would be more than willing to pass on her knowledge. Yellowfang had never truly seemed like the mothering type. Then he remembered that she’d had kits of her own that she’d never gotten to raise and she’d crafted Cinderpelt into a fine apprentice. So maybe it just wasn’t as obvious as it was in Goldenflower or Willowpelt. 

The patrol padded into camp and Bluestar called a Clan meeting. 

“It turns out that the strange scents we found were not the ShadowClan we’ve come to know, but the rogues we thought to have left behind. Brokenstar is back in the forest.” She announced. 

A mix of fear and anger rose in the yowls of his Clanmates, and Fireheart fought the urge to join them. He remembered easily enough what ThunderClan had decided to do after successfully defeating the former ShadowClan rogues, and if he wanted to avoid that this time then he’d have to speak with Bluestar. Stars, if he wanted to avoid the ridiculous state the camp had been left in when Brokenstar had attacked he’d have to tell Bluestar. 

Overall, he didn’t have the best feeling about tomorrow… maybe some rest would do him well.

* * *

“You do realize that StarClan isn’t the answer to your every problem.” Redtail offered from far off. Fireheart groaned. 

“Then why do I keep coming here?” 

“You seek guidance,” The tortoiseshell tom informed him. “but we don’t see much beyond our own skies, and Brokenstar is well beyond StarClan.” 

“Do you think there’s anything I can do to prevent Brokenstar’s devastation of our camp? And the fact that we sheltered him before?” 

“Some things, you’ll have to figure out on your own, young one. I  _ can _ tell you that you’re on the right track.” 

“Good to know.” Fireheart muttered bitterly. If StarClan couldn’t give him answers, what hope did any of them have against Brokenstar? They’d survived the first time by a hair on a downy kit’s pelt, because the patrols were fast enough to get back and Brokenstar hadn’t have the weight of his Clan behind him. If things changed this time as much as they already had… 

“Sleep, young tom. Tell Sandstorm that I’m doing enough pestering for the both of us.” 

“You’re… alright with us being together?” Fireheart asked. 

“You’re as good a cat as anyone else she could have latched onto. Good luck with your choice, Fireheart. Mercy is never an easy thing to give, but it does wonders for one’s character.” 

“Thank you, Redtail.” He whispered before darkness consumed him. 

Fireheart snapped awake and rolled to his paws. He had a catastrophe to avert. 

* * *

“Bluestar, may we speak?” 

The ginger tom stood at the entrance to the leader’s den, watching the lichen sway in the night breeze. 

“Come in, Fireheart. What would you like to discuss?”    
Fireheart stepped through the lichen to find Bluestar and Whitestorm sharing tongues.

“Sometimes I can’t sleep.” The snowy tom admitted. Fireheart nodded. He knew what that was like. 

“I… one of my dreams has made a reappearance. I think it means something about tomorrow.”    
“What happens tomorrow, Fireheart?” Bluestar asked, eyes calm as she stared at him.

“I think Brokenstar is going to attack one of the Clans. Ours is most likely, because we helped ShadowClan drive him out, but we should get word to ShadowClan that he might be coming for them. And…”

“Yes?” His leader’s meow was surprisingly patient, and Whitestorm was staring at him curiously. 

“I think we shouldn’t have too many warriors out of camp the next few days.”    
“I’ll tell Tigerclaw to plan the patrols accordingly. Do you think this will defeat Brokenstar once and for all?”    
“It will help.” The ginger tom insisted. 

“Good, then. Rest well, Fireheart. You may have avoided a battle tonight.” 

_ Or made it worse… _

Fireheart dipped his head and padded out of the den. 

What should happen now?    
He was far too wired to sleep, and no one was awake this time of night. 

“I hope you’re not thinking of leaving camp.” Whitestorm rumbled. Fireheart tripped over his paws and tumbled down the rocky path from Highrock. Whitestorm stood at the entrance to his aunt’s den, and stared at the ginger warrior. He was not impressed. 

“Not really.”

Something told him there could only be trouble at this time of night. He was far better off staying in camp. 

“Good.” The snow-pelted tom meowed. “Then you won’t mind me joining you.”

Fireheart narrowed his eyes. 

“If that’s what you want to do.” He offered warily. This version of Whitestorm was far stranger than the one of his previous youth. There was hardly any of the older tom’s previous openness here, and while Fireheart never felt uncomfortable around the yellow-eyed warrior, he did have an unsettled way about him. The need to sit up straight and lick his chest fur basically quadrupled, that was for sure. 

Fireheart smothered the urge as he settled into the grassy clearing that made up the camp’s floor. Whitestorm did the same, and placed his head on his paws. 

“I do believe,” He murmured. “that of all the cats I’ve met, you intrigue me the most.” 

Heat bloomed in his chest and warmed him from nose to tail-tip. It wasn’t the same as being with Sandstorm, thank StarClan, but it was almost… almost like finding Nutleaf in the forest. But why? 


	18. Seventeen

They were more than ready when Brokenstar snuck into camp. Cats poured in from behind the leader's den, the back nursery entrance, the regular camp entrance, and threw themselves from the top of the ravine… Fireheart's eyes snapped open to see chaos all around him, and he was surprised to see Whitestorm batting a strange rogue away from where he previously slept. 

“We were right to keep our vigil!” He yowled furiously. “It gave me a few heartbeat's warning!” 

Fireheart scrambled to his paws and lunged for the nearest rogue, a brown and white she-cat a bit darker than Nutleaf and more patched.

How did Brokenstar gather this many rogues?! It’s almost like we’re fighting another Clan… 

He sent the rogue she-cat away squealing and dodged two of the many cats locked in battle. Frostfur was fighting like all of StarClan coursed through her, eyes wild as she slithered around and left gaping wounds on her opponent. She gave chase when he ran away squealing, but Fireheart brushed her tail with his paw. She whirled to face him, snarling. 

“You’ve given him enough wounds to remember you by.” The ginger tom insisted. The white queen nodded and pelted off in search of another intruder. 

 Someone crashed into him and Fireheart clawed with all his might. He was right to do so, because it was Clawface! This was the cat who killed one of his most trusted advisors and stolen the future of the Clan! This cat had rocked ThunderClan with a single set of actions, and showed no remorse for it. The anger that burned in his veins lent Fireheart strength, and he saw red the next few heartbeats. 

  
  


“...ire… art? Fireheart? Can you hear me?”    
Nutleaf… why wasn’t she in the nursery? What was going on?!

“Don’t try to move too quickly.” Yellowfang insisted. “Despite what you pulled off, you’re still very injured.”

_ What he pulled off… what was Yellowfang talking about?  _

“You took on Clawface and five other cats basically single-pawed!”  _ Cinderpe-paw. Cinderpaw? What in StarClan’s name?! _

“Sleep, Fireheart. You’ve done well today.” 

_ Bluestar…  _

_ I guess if she says I can… but what happened to Clawface…? _

* * *

When Fireheart woke next, every part of his body felt numb. His tail thumped limply, but he didn’t feel a thing. 

“Don’t move, kittypet.” Brokenstar… why was he still alive?! Sure, Yellowfang had a soft spot for him, but you’d think that after all he put her through-!   
The grey medicine cat must have seen the look on his face, because she flicked an ear. They’d talk later. 

The ginger tom struggled to his paws, stretching out each of his limbs in turn before shaking himself out. Yellowfang nodded approvingly. 

“You look like you’re moving well. How do you feel?” 

“Fine.” He meowed slowly. His voice sounded like it hadn’t been used and his throat tasted like the sandy hollow. “Warm.” 

Did he visit StarClan in his sleep? Surely he’d remember dreaming of Spottedleaf or Redtail?

“Good. I’ll see about a dash of feverfew or something. Come here, come here. Reckless fool that you are!” The older she-cat snapped. 

“I still don’t know what I did.” Fireheart offered. 

“Well, the others certainly do.” Yellowfang snorted. “So I’m sure you’ll find out later.” 

Fireheart barely took a few steps out of the medicine den before Cinderpaw came barrelling into him. 

“Oh thank StarClan, we thought you wouldn’t make it!” She whispered. Brackenpaw was right by her side, both siblings sniffing their mentor over. When they were satisfied with Yellowfang’s job of patching him up, they took up places on either side of him and marched him further into camp. 

“Fireheart’s awake!” He heard Nutleaf cry out from a few snake-lengths away. 

Tan fur filled his vision and Sandstorm pressed her muzzle to his cheek. Tears shone in her eyes. 

“What happened?” Fireheart asked, desperate for answers. “What did I do?”

“You went after Clawface.” 

Was that Willowpelt he heard? He couldn’t see much because the apprentices bundled him into a sitting position and Sandstorm joined him. Brackenpaw waited patiently beside her while Cinderpaw fidgeted beside Fireheart. 

“You went after Clawface and he almost had you, but you were too fast for ‘im, and then he was dead! After that, these three cats came out of nowhere and tag-teamed you but you slashed their throats like it was nothing! I mean you had blood  _ everywhere _ ! And then there was this one other cat who had to be about three times Lionheart’s size and you were nipping at his paws and slashing under his belly! Then Greystripe came over and you guys did this weird move that threw him up into the air and sent him crashing down! He wasn’t completely dead, but he looked pretty close to it!” Cinderpaw crowed proudly. 

“You were the best cat in the whole battle!” Brightpaw insisted from beside her sister, eyes wide. 

“I don’t think that’s true.” Fireheart muttered, ears hot. Sandstorm licked his cheek and nudged his shoulder. 

“If not the best, then certainly the most reckless.” She purred through gritted teeth. Fireheart froze. He knew that purr. That purr meant bad things to come, because not only would he be chewed out by Sandstorm, Dustpelt and whoever else saw fit to rake him through the mud for his actions, he would have a constant guard consisting of either his mate or her snow-furred mentor. Sandstorm and Whitestorm would absolutely not let him out of someone’s sight for as long as he lived, that’s how badly he messed up! 

Fireheart swallowed visibly. 

“What happened to Brokenstar? Why’s he in the medicine den?” He asked nervously. 

“Yellowfang beat him into submission. Bluestar decided that the evening patrol is taking him to ShadowClan today.” 

“How long have I been out?” 

“Four sunrises. You tried to wake up the second night but you weren't really aware of much.” Nutleaf offered. 

“Look at her, she sounds so much like a medicine cat already.” Yellowfang crowed proudly. “With enough training, your sister will be the best medicine cat the Clan has ever seen.” 

“Medicine cat?!” Darkstripe choked out. “First you let a kittypet become a warrior, now you let one touch our herbs?!” 

“She'd be far better at it than the likes of you, Darkstripe.” Willowpelt growled. “It seems you've forgotten what I taught you.” 

“Tigerclaw was my mentor.” The black tabby spat. 

“And I'm your mother. Besides, if Tigerclaw was so influential, you'd think his hatred for outsiders would have been kept better to himself!” She snarled, bristling. The camp went silent, stunned at Willowpelt's outburst. 

The light grey she-cat smoothed her fur and dipped her head to the deputy. 

“I suppose that isn't what all this is about.” She groused. 

“It is a conversation best had with privacy.” Tigerclaw rumbled, stepping forward. “Come now, everyone. We've just defended our camp against intruders! The fresh-kill pile is overstocked. Surely this is a time to celebrate?” 

So food was passed out and everyone grouped up and shared tongues. Fireheart couldn't find it in him to move, but Whitestorm brought he and Sandstorm both some prey. 

“I'm proud of you.” The white tom murmured when he was satisfied the pair of younger warriors were eating. “Despite Fireheart's ridiculous taste for danger, we wouldn't have been able to pull through without the help of every cat in camp.” 

“In my dreams, all the warriors were out of camp and there were only five intruders. I don't know where Brokenstar got so many cats or how we haven't noticed before.” Fireheart muttered around the squirrel Whitestorm had set before him.

“It was a sign, yes, but StarClan has a way of getting their point across without being entirely literal.” The white tom offered. “Eat well, and rest.” He insisted before going to join Bluestar and Tigerclaw.

Fireheart placed his head on his paws. 

“Are you in any pain?” Sandstorm wondered. 

“It's not that.” He muttered bitterly. “It's about Tigerclaw, and it's better left to moonhigh.” 

“Alright then.” Sandstorm shifted so that she matched Fireheart's pose and the pair lay in the center of camp, revelling in the joy of their Clanmates. 

* * *

Fireheart woke in the warriors den the following morning to find dazzling white light streaming through the wall. 

_ More snow? _

At least his wounds had stopped aching. Yellowfang had been right—the herb juice had stung, but he felt much better after a good night’s sleep. Fireheart wondered how the younger apprentices had managed their vigil. They weren't warriors yet, but the four siblings were determined to prove themselves and begged their mentors to stay up all night. "We'll be practicing for our warrior vigils!” Cinderpaw pleaded. The four mentors talked it over with Longtail and Swiftpaw, who had been more than willing to join the apprentices in their mission.

_ It must have been bitterly cold. _

He got to his paws and stretched his forelegs, arching his back and curling his tail up over his head. Fireheart padded out into the snow-covered clearing to find that Longtail, Dustpelt and the five apprentices were gone. Whitestorm must have sent them in when he left on the dawn patrol.

He could just make out Frostfur’s white pelt skirting the nursery as she slipped out to stretch her legs. There was a large bare spot in the center of the clearing, where they'd spent the night. Fireheart shivered at the thought. 

The sky was thick with snow-heavy clouds. Flakes fell softly and silently. 

_ We decimated the fresh-kill pile yesterday _ , Fireheart realized. 

The Clan would need to stock up if the snow was going to get deeper. He heard Bluestar call from the Highrock. 

The Clan began to creep from their dens and pick their way to the center of camp, shaking themselves out to adjust for the cold. 

“Good morning!” She called brightly. “I hope everyone enjoyed themselves this past evening, because I know I did. Our brave apprentices begged to sit in the snow all night with a couple of warriors and I'm proud to say that we've slept better for it. Well done, you five, for taking initiative, and thank you Longtail and Dustpelt for accompanying them despite the weather. I want you all to know that Brokenstar has been turned over to ShadowClan, who will apparently consult WindClan on his fate. Clawface has been buried and after the patrol returned, I can safely say that our forest is free of rogues.” 

The Clan cheered and went about their day. Fireheart glanced around for one of his former denmates. Sandstorm and Dustpelt were bound to be exhausted, so that left Greystripe to go hunting with. He approached his tabby friend as the grey tom worked there clear snow from the entrance to the nursery. 

_ He wouldn't dare… _

“Hey Greystripe!” The ginger tom called. 

His friend glanced up, saw who was calling him, and shuffled more snow aside. 

“Well, I figured we could go hunting to warm ourselves up and restock the fresh-kill pile, but have fun with the snow.” Fireheart chirped. He'd probably be better off on a solo hunt anyway. 

Greystripe padded over to him just as he reached the gorse tunnel. 

“Let's go.” The large tabby growled.

It was a slow climb out of the ravine, with the boulders covered in snow. When they reached the top, the icebound forest stretched before them. Graystripe charged away at once, face set with grim determination. Fireheart followed him. As he tracked a mouse around the roots of an oak tree he saw Graystripe racing after a rabbit that had been foolish enough to stray from its burrow. Graystripe pelted furiously after the creature until he finished it off with a well-aimed pounce. Fireheart sat and watched as Graystripe padded back to him and dropped the rabbit at Fireheart’s paws. 

“That should feed a kit or two.” He grunted. His ginger companion snorted.

“You don’t have to prove anything to me,” Fireheart informed him.

“Could've fooled me.” He scoffed. 

* * *

By sunhigh Graystripe had caught more than Fireheart, but both cats had done well. They returned to the camp, their jaws heavy with fresh-kill. They padded into the clearing and dropped their prey in the usual place. The spot had been empty so far. Fireheart wondered if they should go out again. The snow was heavier now, and a cold wind was beginning to blow through the ravine. 

Fireheart was studying the darkening sky when he heard Brindleface’s worried meow near the nursery. He bounded over to her,instantly alarmed 

“Is something the matter?” 

“Have you seen Cloudkit?” she demanded. Fireheart shook his head. He had meant to play with all of Nutleaf’s kits today, as Patchkit was finally feeling better after a long battle with kitten-cough. But then he'd gone hunting with Greystripe and- wait, hold on!

“Is he  _ missing _ ?” His paws prickled as Brindleface’s rising panic began to infect him. 

“Along with Ashkit and Fernkit. I closed my eyes for a  _ moment _ . I just woke up and I can’t find them anywhere! They’ll freeze to death in this weather!” The queen swayed on her paws. Alarm choked Fireheart as he recalled the last time a cat had simply disappeared from the camp… he and Nutleaf almost died on the Thunderpath.

“Okay, okay…” he muttered as he thought this through. “Get Nutleaf from the medicine den and go to the nursery. Question his siblings and see if they know anything about where their denmates were headed. If you find out anything, tell Bluestar and she should send out more cats.” 

“Are you going out there alone?!” Brindleface demanded sharply. “Certainly not in this weather, young tom! Not when you just woke up from four days of healing grievous wounds! Go get two of your denmates if you must go at all!” She snapped. 

Fireheart dipped his head, thoroughly cowed, and sprinted for the warriors den. Out the corner of his eye, he saw Brindleface head for the medicine clearing. 

“Sandstorm! Greystripe! Dustpelt!” He called into the den. The pair of brown warriors were by his side in an instant, alarmed by his tone. 

“Greystripe isn't here. What happened?!” Dustpelt demanded. 

“Cloudkit, Ashkit, and Fernkit are out in the forest doing who knows what! We have to find them!” He insisted. 

“You can't go anywhere! You're barely on your paws!” Sandstorm snapped. 

“But-!” 

“Dustpelt and I will find them, I promise!” Sandstorm murmured. Fireheart rocked back on his haunches with a scowl as his denmates tore out if camp. Nutleaf raced toward him, a panicked look on her face. 

“Who'd you send to look for the kits?!” She demanded. 

“Sandstorm and Dustpelt.” He responded promptly.

“Good, now come wait with us in the nursery,” Brindleface ordered. 


	19. Eighteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning for mannipulation and potentially for domestic violence when it comes to Willowpelt's story.

 Outside the camp, the wind felt even fiercer. Dustpelt narrowed his eyes and hunched his shoulders against the blizzard. “It’s going to be hard picking up a scent through the fresh snow,” he warned Sandstorm. “Let’s start by checking to see if they’ve climbed up to the forest.”

“Good idea,” meowed Sandstorm. “You take that side.” she pointed with her nose. “And I’ll take the other. Meet you back here. Don’t be too long.” Sandstorm bounded away, and Dustpelt leaped over a fallen tree, heading toward the trail the Clan followed most often. The sides of the ravine were even more thickly coated than they had been that morning, and slippery now where the snow had frozen into ice. He stopped and lifted his head, mouth open, but could find no scent of the kits. He looked in vain for pawsteps—would their trail already be covered by fresh snow?

He trekked along the bottom of the slope but found no sign of any cats, let alone lost kits. The wind blew until Dustpelt could hardly feel the tips of his ears. No kits could survive in this weather, and it wouldn’t be long before the sun began to set! He  _ had _ to find them before nightfall. Dustpelt raced back to the camp entrance to find that Sandstorm was waiting for him, fur striped with small ridges of snow. She shook them off as she saw him coming. “Any sign?” He meowed hopefully.

“Nothing.” She scowled. “They can’t have gotten far,” She pointed out. 

“Come on, let’s try this way.” Dustpelt started toward the training hollow and Sandstorm trekked after him. 

The snow was getting deeper, and she sank up to her belly with every step. He stifled a new of desperation. The training hollow was empty! 

_ They're not here… what are we going to tell Brindleface and Nutleaf?!  _

“Do you think Bluestar realizes how bad the weather is out here?” asked Sandstorm, raising her voice against the wind. 

“I’d rather not think about it,” Dustpelt called back to her. 

“We should go back and get help, join up with another search party,” meowed Sandstorm. Dustpelt looked at his shivering companion. This weather wasn't just life-threatening to kits.

“I agree,” he meowed, defeated. “We can’t do this by ourselves.”

As they turned toward camp, Dustpelt froze and pricked his ears. 

_ That sounded like Ashkit! _

“Did you hear that?” he called. 

Sandstorm stopped and began sniffing the air furiously before pointing with her nose to a fallen tree.

“That way!” she insisted, determined. 

Dustpelt leaped toward it with Sandstorm right behind him. The squealing grew louder until he could make out three little voices. He scrambled up onto the log and looked down the other side to find Ashkit and Fernkit huddled in the snow.

“Oh thank StarClan!” He breathed, crouching over them to stop their shivering.

“Where’s Cloudkit?” The brown tabby demanded. yowled. 

“Hunting,” squeaked Fernkit. Her voice trembled with cold and fear, but there was a note of defiance in it. Dustpelt rolled his eyes and lifted his head. 

“Cloudkit!” he called, peering through the snowflakes. 

“Dustpelt, look!” Sandstorm exclaimed from on top of the log. He spun around. A bedraggled white shape struggled through the snow toward them. Every step was a massive leap for the tiny kit, considering that the snow was as high as he was, but he kept coming. Best of all, in his mouth, he carried a small, snow-encrusted vole. A surge of relief and fury shot through Dustpelt as Sandstorm bounded through the snow to scoop up the kit by the scruff of his neck. Cloudkit grunted in protest but refused to drop the vole that dangled from his mouth. She turned to see Dustpelt nudging the others toward her. They stumbled ahead of him, sinking up to their ears in the deep snow, but he kept pushing them on.

Cloudkit squirmed in Dustpelt’s mouth. He dropped the tomkit back into the snow and Cloudkit looked up at him, proudly holding his catch. Dustpelt was impressed despite the condition. A kit catching prey was a feat on its own. But in this weather?! Even the best warriors would have trouble! He'd have to talk to Bluestar about Cloudkit’s particular talent for snow-hunting later. They could always use more cats like Whitestorm, Frostfur and Willowpelt.

“Wait there,” he ordered before dashing back to help Sandstorm. He picked up a Fernkit, who mewled pitifully, and began nosing Ashkit forward. The bedraggled group struggled back to the camp.

* * *

 Brindleface, Nutleaf and Fireheart and Bluestar waited outside the gorse tunnel, eyes narrowed against the driving snow. As soon as they spotted Dustpelt and the others, they rushed forward to help. Nutleaf scooped up Cloudkit, Brindleface grabbed Fernkit, and Fireheart grabbed Ashkit. They turned and raced into the shelter of the camp with Dustpelt and Sandstorm not far behind. Once in the clearing, the three cats dropped their frozen bundles onto the ground. Dustpelt shook the snow from his fur and looked down at Cloudkit, who was still stubbornly clinging to his catch. Bluestar glared at the three kits. 

“What did you think you were doing out there? In case you haven't noticed, it is extremely cold!” Brindleface’s two kits shrank under their leader’s angry gaze, but Cloudkit looked back at her with round blue eyes. He dropped his vole and mewed, 

“The Clan needed fresh-kill, so we decided to catch some.” Fireheart flinched at his nephew’s boldness and Nutleaf looked ready to cuff her son. 

“Whose idea was it?” Bluestar demanded. 

“Mine,” Cloudkit announced, his head still unbowed. Bluestar fixed her eyes on the defiant little kit and yowled, 

“You could have frozen to death out there! You could have been eaten by a larger animal, you could have  _ died _ and no one would know what happened to you!” 

Cloudkit dropped into a crouch, startled by the anger in her voice. 

“But we did it for the Clan!” he mewed defensively. “We all need food, don't we?” 

Bluestar sighed and bent down to lick the white kit's forehead. 

“Not at the cost of three young lives, little one. Especially not when you're kits.” She murmured, licking the other two in turn. 

“Come now, you must be cold. Why don't we go to the nursery and have One-eye or Halftail tell you the stories behind the warrior code. 

“The Warrior Code?” Fernkit meowed, confused. “What does that have to do with us hunting?” 

“You'll see, little ones,now go get settled in with your mothers. The elders and I will be on our way.” 

Brindleface nodded and led a stunned Nutleaf and their kits to the warmth and comfort of the nursery. Fireheart remained, likely frozen in shock. 

“Well done, you three.” Bluestar murmured warmly. “You took action despite the harsh conditions.”

It was at this point that the ginger tom seemed to come alive. 

“I did nothing.” He muttered bitterly, rising to his paws. 

“You organized the rescue patrol.” Bluestar informed him. “You remained calm despite every instinct telling you to get out there and find them yourself. What's better is that you accepted your limits and allowed someone else to go in your place. That usually takes a lifetime to learn.” She meowed encouragingly. Fireheart dipped his head and padded off, tail drooping and fur fluffed against the cold. 

“As for you two, go warm up and take pride in your skills. You've saved the lives of three precious youngsters.” 

She rose fluidly to her paws and headed for the nursery. Sandstorm shuffled her paws on the hard-packed snow. 

“Go find Fireheart.” Dustpelt advised. 

“I'm not sure I'm who he needs to talk to.” 

“See if Whitestorm or Willowpelt have any ideas, but I think he'll want you to be there more than anyone else.” The brown tabby advised. Sandstorm nodded her thanks and shuffled off. 

* * *

As evening came, hunger drew Fireheart from the den. He picked a thrush from the pile of fresh-kill and settled down by the nettle clump to eat it. It was dark now, and the snow had eased. Once his eyes adjusted to the night, Fireheart could see the camp entrance clearly. He spotted Greystripe as soon as he appeared, and watched him walk to the pile of fresh-kill, carrying a whole mound of prey. 

_ Perhaps he’d just been hunting after all? _

Greystripe dropped most of his catch onto the pile. He kept a large mouse for himself and took it to a sheltered spot near the camp wall. Fireheart’s brief hope faded. The distracted look in Greystripe’s eyes told him that he was right the first time. The bigger tom had been off with Silverstream. 

Fireheart got to his paws and stormed into the den. He found no trouble falling into a deep sleep. 

 

_ The snowy forest spread out around him, glowing white beneath the cold moon. Fireheart stood on a tall, jagged rock. Beside him stood Cloudtail, a fully grown warrior, with his thick pelt rippling in the wind. Frost sparkled on the stone beneath their paws.  _

_ “Watch!” Fireheart hissed as a wood mouse scuttled around the frozen roots of a tree. Cloudtail followed his gaze and leaped silently from the rock onto the forest floor. Fireheart watched the white tom prowl toward the prey. Suddenly he noticed a familiar scent.  _

_ Spottedleaf stood beside him dappled coat shone in the moonlight. _

_ “He'll grow up to rival Sandstorm, if that eases your fears.” She offered.  _

_ “It's how he gets there that I have a problem with.” The ginger tom scowled. “But you haven't come to chat about my nephew. Does StarClan have a message for me?”  _

_ “A warning, more like.” Her tone got darker, and her eyes burned into his. “A battle is coming, Fireheart. Beware a warrior you cannot trust.”  _

_ Fireheart dipped his head.  _

_ “Thank you for everything you've taught me… I'm sorry for what happened with Whitestorm and Tigerclaw.”  _

_ Spottedleaf's eyes grew sorrowful and she made to speak. The squeal of a mouse made Fireheart jump and look around. Cloudtail must have made his kill. He turned back to Spottedleaf but she was gone.  _

_ “That's StarClan for you.” He grumbled as he woke up.  _

 

As the den grew lighter, Willowpelt woke up. Fireheart watched as she rose and stretched, then pushed her way out of the den. He shot a disgusted glance at Greystripe’s sleeping form before following her. 

“It’s stopped snowing,” he offered, desperate to break the ghostly silence that enfolded the snowbound camp. His voice echoed around the clearing and Willowpelt nodded, probably uncomfortable with the silence herself. 

“Any plans besides hunting or border patrol?” He wondered. 

“Probably not even that. It depends on how the day goes.” She murmured. “I notice Greystripe seems to be having some trouble with you, Sandstorm and Dustpelt. I talked to Brackenpaw the other day and he said that he's been training more with you or his siblings than with Greystripe. When did this start?” She asked. 

So he told her about how he almost drowned, leaving out the part that it was Silverstream who saved him and simply saying that it was a RiverClan warrior. 

“And now he's going off to see them.” She snorted. “For once, it'd be nice if my kits behaved. I had a rough time with them. I was… that is to say, they were-. It's not that I didn't-.” 

“You don't have to tell me anything you're not ready for.” Fireheart offered smoothly, recognizing a dark secret when he heard one.

“I want to tell you. Perhaps I'm a bad mother, but I want kits with Whitestorm and I can't help thinking that I'll always be this bad. I think… perhaps if I tell someone, I'll be a little better.” 

“You mean  _ Whitestorm _ doesn't know?” 

“He knows that I fell on hard times, but not why.” 

“O-okay.” 

Fireheart was nervous now. What was she going to tell him?! 

“I chased a loner off the territory once when I was younger. He was as old as I was, looked just like Darkstripe but his eyes were blue like mine. He kept coming back, expecting me to chase him off, but I never saw him again after that first time. One day, about a moon after the first time, I was going for a walk and he just… charged at me. Started screeching about how he loved me and I set my Clan on him, all this nonsense… so eventually he asked me to run away with him. At first I said no, but he said it was either this or he'd let a monster swallow him up… and I didn't want that, so I went with him.” 

“Did he hurt you?” Fireheart wondered. 

“Not… not exactly. He, uh, threatened to hurt himself. I mean, sure I was ready for mating in general but…” 

“Not with him. He's fox-brained, and if you ever see him again, I'll claw him so badly he won't ever be able to have kits.” 

“Hopefully he's long gone. I wouldn't ever want you to meet him.”

A rustling noise accompanied the scent of Tigerclaw and Runningwind as they emerged from the den and settled themselves beside Willowpelt to wash.  _ Ready for the dawn patrol, _ Fireheart mused. He debated offering to join them. He could do with a run through the woods… but part of him wanted to stay behind and keep an eye on Graystripe. Spottedleaf’s words still lay heavy in his heart. He couldn’t shake off the idea that Graystripe was the warrior he could not trust. Because why else would StarClan send that message? They already knew about Tigerclaw. Graystripe insisted his relationship with Silverstream didn’t change his loyalty to the Clan, but all Fireheart could see was Silverstream dying and Greystripe struggling in RiverClan. He didn't want any of that, especially not now that he knew Silverstream a bit better… 

Commotion shook him from his thoughts as Oakpaw's scent drifted near. Seconds later, the young tom crashed into the camp, panting heavily. 

“Fireheart you have to help us!” He wailed breathlessly. “They know we had Brokenstar killed! They know and they're trying to kill us all and they just came out of nowhere and-.” 

Fireheart sprang to the tom's side. 

“Breathe, Oakpaw, can you do that?” He murmured gently. After several heartbeats of tension, Oakpaw spoke again. 

“Your patrol was right to warn us but we didn't expect them to attack us in the break of day! We just got back from sending out the last of the patrols and everyone was looking forward to a day's rest but then these cats just swarmed into camp! Some of them still smelled like ShadowClan because it hasn't really been that long so the fighting was confusing and we could really use your help. Please, Fireheart?!” He begged. 

The ginger tom looked to Bluestar, who nodded firmly. 

“Tigerclaw, I want you to organize two parties, one to head the attack, one to back it up. We need to get there as fast as we can!” 

“Yes, Bluestar.” Tigerclaw meowed, turning to the other warriors. “Whitestorm, you’ll head the second party; I’ll head the first. I’ll take Darkstripe, Mousefur, Longtail, and Dustpelt. Fireheart, this tom came to you directly so you'll be sticking with him.”

Fireheart nodded, surprised that Tigerclaw would trust him like this.

“Frostfur’s kits and the rest of our warriors will join Whitestorm. Are we all ready?” called Tigerclaw. The Clan raised their heads and let out a battle cry. Tigerclaw charged for the gorse tunnel and his group raced after him with Oakpaw and Fireheart in the lead. 

* * *

Oakpaw stopped short in the middle of the forest and turned to Tigerclaw. 

“I need your word that you won't use what I'm about to show you against us. We have no time for the Thunderpath.” Oakpaw insisted. 

Tigerclaw nodded. 

“You have ThunderClan’s word that we will not exploit your weaknesses until you've had ample recovery time.” 

Oakpaw breathed a sigh of relief and the battle patrol went on. 

* * *

The secret turned out to be a series of tunnels from one side of the Thunderpath to the other. They didn't go any further than the Monster Trail itself, and while it could be useful, it wasn't all that great in terms of invasion tactics. 

They made it to the ShadowClan camp and launched themselves into battle. Somehow, there were even more rogues than had attacked the ThunderClan camp! 

Fireheart launched himself onto the back of some rogue who quarreled with Wetfoot. This tom was huge! Almost twice his size, but still nowhere near as big as Blackstar(- foot. Blackfoot, for now.) grew to be. Still, it took the pair of them to bring him down, and Wetfoot nodded his thanks once they chased the tom out of ShadowClan's camp. Fireheart scanned the clearing once he and Wetfoot parted ways. Whitestorm easily encircled a small black she-cat who growled at him. Mousefur nipped the underfur of another she-cat about her size. An earsplitting screech made everyone freeze. 

“Dawncloud! No!” Someone wailed. 

Cats scampered back to reveal a small brown and white tabby she-cat slumped over a group of squealing kits. 

“You killed her!” Oakpaw howled. “You monsters killed my mother!” 

The little brown tom tore away from the crowd and launched himself at the cat closest to her body, only to be dragged back by Wetfoot, who had tears streaming down his cheeks. 

“Well?! What are you waiting for?! Kill them! Kill them all!” A reddish-brown rogue that Fireheart didn't recognize clawed his way to the top of the ShadowClan meeting place and yowled a battle cry, but no one moved. 

A solid, light grey she-cat stepped forward. 

“You said that these cats killed your leader and you wanted revenge. You said nothing about killing kits.” She sneered. “You have wronged us, and our leader will hear about this. Beware, forest cats!” She snarled. “Those who cross Scourge’s Clan will pay the price!”

With that, she hauled the tom off of the ShadowClan leader's standing place and slit his throat without a second thought before turning to the remaining cats of the clearing. 

“Who speaks for the queen that was unjustly slain? Scourge will expect us to make reparations.” 

Blackfoot stepped forward. 

“I am the rightful leader of ShadowClan, and Nightpelt will be my second in command. If you wish to make reparations, we are the cats you speak to.” 

The black tom padded to Blackfoot’s side, a stunned look on his face. 

“We shall be the ones you speak with. What reparations do you expect to make?” The elderly tom hissed. “After you sought to slaughter our Clan?!” 

“We were told wrong, my friend. Scourge's group is known as BloodClan, we rule the alleys. Our standards insist that kits are to be cared for, and the cat who made such a grievous mistake will be yours to do as you wish. The cats who approached us begged our help because they were being overthrown by stronger cats. Judging by how the clearing has thinned, this must not be the case.” 

Fireheart blinked, confused, and glanced around to find that of his Clanmates, only Whitestorm and Tigerclaw were left. 

“No, it isn't. Our Clan has been ravaged by the cats you spoke to, and we had to get help to free ourselves from the tyrant known as Brokenstar. Our neighbors were attacked by some of your Clan trying to get him back, and we were attacked for finally ridding ourselves of him. None of you had any right to be here today, and no amount of reparations can bring back the lives we've lost at your paws. Make sure your rogue members pay for what they've done to us, and let this be your reparations.” Nightpelt wheezed out the last part and a ginger she-cat came to his aid. Blackfoot twitched his tail. 

“Let what he said stand as our will.” The white tom growled. 

“Your camp is surprisingly empty, for a Clan. If you will not accept anything else, keep some of our cats as a fighting force until you replenish yours. Teach them the ways of a true Clan, so we will know better how to prevent these mistakes.” The silver she-cat insisted. 

Blackfoot narrowed his eyes and dipped his head. 

“We shall have to consider such a generous offer. Send a cat to the border at sunset in five days’ time, and we shall have an answer.” 

“Thank you for such an honor. We wish you luck in your endeavors.” 

The strange cats were gone in a heartbeat, and Tigerclaw signaled to Fireheart. 

“We need to report to Bluestar what has happened here. This was highly unusual.” Whitestorm meowed urgently. Fireheart nodded and his gaze swept over the small Clan as they organized their dead as per Runningnose's directions. 

Oakpaw barrelled into him. 

“I knew you would help.” The red-brown tom mumbled. “You're better than Pinepelt ever was.” 

“Who's Pinepelt?” Fireheart wondered. 

“The cat who tried to get the Bloodless Clan cats to kill us. He's my sire.” Oakpaw groused. “He was one of Brokenstar's guards, next in line to be deputy… and he tried to kill us all.” 

A dark look shadowed the young tom's face, one that reminded him painfully of Brambleclaw in his younger years… 

“We need to go.” Tigerclaw urged, padding away. “This is not our place.” 

Oakpaw knocked his head against Fireheart’s shoulder. 

“Promise me that you won't let the idea of leadership go to your head.” The red-brown tom rasped pleadingly. “Promise me that when you lead ThunderClan, it will be with the heart you were named for. I cannot afford to lose anyone else to madness.” 

Fireheart stared at the younger cat, shocked that he would ask such a bold declaration. 

“Fireheart!” Tigerclaw barked from where he and Whitestorm stood by the entrance. 

“Okay.” The ginger tom swore. “I promise.” 

The pair touched noses and Fireheart sprinted to catch up with the ThunderClan deputy and his unofficial mentor. 

* * *

“You took your time coming back,” Bluestar noted as the three of them padded into camp that sunhigh. 

“Fireheart stopped to chat with a friend of his from the journey,” Tigerclaw growled irritably. Whitestorm shook his head. 

“A promise was made, and it shall be kept.” The white tom informed his leader cryptically. “Have you been told about the outsiders?” He asked. Bluestar shook her head. 

“No one had any idea what was going on. I assume you have more information?” 

Whitestorm nodded to Fireheart. 

“You were determined to see this through.” He insisted. “The final report is yours to give.” 

The tension in the camp ratcheted up as Bluestar sat back on her haunches and gestured for Fireheart to join her. 

“Loudly,” she ordered. “So everyone can hear you.” 

Fireheart inhaled deeply and searched the crowd for something to focus on. What would keep him from falling apart and telling them everything… ?! 

He spotted Frostfur's kits and Brackenpaw held his gaze. At the young tom's nod, Fireheart told the Clan about the failed battle. 


End file.
